Pokémon: The Line
by RadHominin
Summary: What if Professor Oak was a reasonable man who didn't send Red out into the world, alone, at age ten? What if Pokémon didn't automatically obey the first person to slap them in a ball, fire-breathing lizards were considered a public safety hazard, and even a weak Thundershock of sufficient amperage could induce lethal ventricular fibrillation?
1. Champion Oak

_Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon owns me._

 _The thumbnail used for this fic is a piece created by a user named Kikariz, who seems to have dropped off the face of the Earth. If anyone knows where they might be contacted, please let me know._

* * *

Arc I: Tabula Rasa

* * *

"Are you a boy, or a girl?"

He raised his gaze to me when it became clear I wasn't going to answer. He opened his eyes wide, helpless and innocent, _almost_ suppressing the twitch at the corner of his mouth. His biro tapped the form on the desk.

"The Registry Office needs to know."

I stared back at him for a moment as he nodded in grave agreement with his own statement. His pen shifted from one box to the other, his head tilting questioningly from side to side.

Finally, I relented.

"I sexually identify as a Nidoran."

He raised an eyebrow, moving the pen over the empty space next to the 'Other' category.

I sighed. _"Male_. I'm male."

He nodded, ticking the 'M' box.

"Kinda hurt you don't remember, _Dad,_ " I added.

His eyes flared with a sudden fury, and he slammed his open palm on the table with a surprising force. His face was held in a rictus, contorted into an exaggerated parody of a rage.

"That's _Professor Oak_ to you, boy!"

I bowed my head, clasping my hands before me, pulling my shoulders together. My voice dripped with contrition.

"Yes, Professor Oak, sir. Sorry, sir."

"And take off that cap, you look like a damned boy."

I obeyed, the cool air of the lab wafting over my scalp. At the top of my peripheral vision, I could see him settling back into his chair. He raised his hand from the table, glancing at the pen - checking it for fractures before twirling it back into a writing position. He held his jaw rigid, his nostrils flared, a stern gaze settling over me.

"Good. Let's not hear that again. Now, what's your name?"

"Red Oak, sir." I didn't dare look up, for fear of making eye contact. My shoulders were already shaking. I held my breath, steeling myself against the sensation welling in my chest. He filled in another box I couldn't make out, then barked another question.

"Date of birth?"

"August twelfth, five ninety-three, sir."

He glared at me again. "Leaving? On your eighteenth birthday? Are you _that_ desperate to get away from home? What, family not good enough for you? House doesn't meet _sir's_ expectations? Rather swim up shit creek in the blink of an eye than spend one more day with your wrinkled old codger of a father?"

"No, sir. My esteemed father is a gentleman and a scholar."

"Handsome?"

"Very, sir."

He gave a short nod, barely satisfied. Behind me I could hear a tortured, nasal snort as one of the aides struggled to contain their laughter.

We proceeded through the questionnaire in that manner, barked questions being responded to with short, respectful answers. _Yes sir, no sir, Independent sir._ The pages turned at too great a pace, and before long he was pushing the form towards me.

"Jane Hancock, right there."

I leaned over, taking the pen from his hand - he barely allowed himself the _slightest_ resistance before letting it go - and scrawled my signature in the box. There. Done.

I was officially a registered Pokémon Trainer.

The general patter of activity behind me had died - replaced with footsteps, which vanished as the door at the opposite end of the room _clicked_ closed. A moment of privacy, a gesture of respect.

Slowly, and with grave precision, I placed the pen on the desk. Exactly parallel with the edge of the form. I snapped to attention, arms locked straight by my sides, a grim and jaded expression on my face, and looked him directly in the eye. He returned the stare, iron and leather.

I held my breath. Tensed every muscle. But when I saw him bite his lip, I lost.

The air in my lungs escaped all at once in a strangled hoot. My hand reflexively covered my eyes as every laugh I'd suppressed burst forth with a vengeance. My chest convulsed; my eyes ran with water as I snorted like a pig. Through the tears, I could see the Professor doubled over, a hand pressed flat against the desk with the other holding his face.

The laughter racked us both until my chest hurt; until my face was wet and my elbows rested on the desk for support. Until the I'd forgotten why we were laughing - until I was only laughing at how _long_ we'd been laughing.

Eventually, inevitably, the laughter subsided. The last residual chuckles rang out, and silence took over once more. After a moment, he gave a long, steadying sigh. With a palpable reluctance, he took the paper back, looked over it once, and nodded. Ever so slightly, his shoulders slumped. He turned his attention back to me, a sad smile and a hint of sparkle in his eye, and spoke - this time, without the drill instructor routine.

"Well. Can't be a Trainer without a Pokémon, can you?"

Slowly, I shook my head. "No. _Sir_."

His chest contracted in a silent chuckle, his smile broadening. He stood, tapping the registration form as he did so. He smoothed down his lab coat distractedly, patting away at the creases and pulling at the lapels. Walking around the desk, he came face to face with me.

We stood for a moment, taking each other in. He was ageing, but not yet aged. He had a vigour to him - that of a youthful sportsman who got out before overexertion could take too great a toll. His movements were slow, but that was more a product of present circumstances than infirmity. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes had grown more prominent in recent years, the creases around his mouth deeper, but it served more to give his face _definition_ than anything else. His hair was more grey than brown, now, but his skin still held a deep tan born of long hours in the sun.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He turned his face to the ceiling, blinked hard, once, and returned his gaze to me. With great effort, he pushed a smile to his face.

"Shall we meet your starter?"

I nodded, and followed him as he walked towards a side door. The Professor drew a key card from the pocket of his lab coat and swiped it through the reader to one side, tapping a numerical pin into the adjacent pad. A green light, a click, and the metal door slid aside.

Through the entrance shone white, sterile light. Powerful fluorescent strips illuminated the room from the ceiling, the flow of energy through them lending the room a low electric hum. Devices of steel and chrome lined the walls and crowded the centre of the tiled floor. They stood alongside ancient machines of faded plastic and warped metal, even the odd bit of wood panelling - all of them computers, many of which reached as high as the ceiling. Plenty were obsolete, unused for decades but too large to be easily removed. Half had been built into the structure of the lab itself - towering punch-card computers yellowed with age, reels of tape feeding into behemoths which couldn't have operated a modern calculator.

Contrasting them were the newer, sleeker machines. Where the older computers were all hard angles and broad blocks, these were contoured and rounded. Blinking lights and touchscreens, coloured stripes pulling the eye towards important panels and recesses. Crevices and wireframes abounded, many of them shaped to accept the small sphere of a Pokéball.

I'd spent nearly eight years with the Professor, and I still had no idea what half these machines did. The most prominent was in the far centre of the room - a flat, raised dais of black plastic that sported six hemispherical indents. A diagnostic tool, much the same as the one seen in most Pokémon Centres. It would analyse the code form that Pokémon took when placed into a Pokéball, scanning for irregularities against a database of healthy examples of the species, detecting issues and prompting the nursing staff with recommended treatments.

There had been much effort in recent years to develop tools which could alter Pokémon through direct manipulation of the code. This had been widely speculated about ever since the development of electronic Pokéballs - if Pokémon could be converted into binary data, surely we could manipulate that data to improve, perfect, duplicate, even _invent_ Pokémon.

And since Pokéballs could be used to store inanimate objects, the phrase "post-scarcity society" had been spoken with increasing fervour and excitement. It was an exciting prospect - but the Professor had quietly told me not to pin my hopes on it. His colleagues at Silph were of the opinion that the technology was decades away at best, utterly unfeasible at worst. Reading the contents of an Apricorn in code form was one thing; altering that code and pushing them back into the device in a way that manifested as desired was another altogether.

Cradled within the nearest of these recesses sat a single Pokéball. Plain red and white, unadorned - either a weak and easy capture, or an official Association-approved starter. The Professor, a few steps ahead of me, strode up and tapped a few icons on the touchscreen that covered one slanting side of the machine. The tall screen that marked the far edge of the device blinked into life. A few seconds passed as it displayed a simple Pokéball icon, the white and red halves alternately glowing and fading.

Then, divided into six segments, the screen displayed the contents of the six slots. Five empty, naturally, but the sixth held—

My breath caught.

"An _Eevee_?"

The Professor beamed, his pride clear to see.

Eevee. The most adaptable, customisable Pokémon on the planet. Most Pokémon had a single evolutionary path, if they had one at all. Lucky ones might have two, though many of the alternate forms had absurdly specific requirements that were utterly asinine to trigger.

Eevee had _seven_.

Seven confirmed, with at least one more rumoured. As starters went, it was an absolute dream. A genetic structure so unconventional that, had a geneticist proposed it, the concept would have been dismissed outright. Of course, it's easy to dismiss a theory - harder with a small brown-furred, bushy-tailed mammal, yapping cheerfully and demanding treats.

"How did you...?"

He chuckled, raising the palms of his hands into the air.

"I'm the Pokémon Professor! Who's going to turn me down?"

I was at a loss for words. The Professor tapped a few keys to bring up some diagnostics on the screen, and began reading aloud.

"Male. Three years old in real time, eleven-odd months from his point of view. In perfect health physically. _Not_ fixed - so mind your leg. A few recessive genes which could cause issues for potential offspring, so you'll want to screen any mates ahead of time."

He turned from the screen.

"In terms of personality, I understand he's a bit on the naive side - even as Eevees go. Very trusting, very friendly. Quite playful. He might be a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to danger, at least at first, so don't be surprised if he's frightened at the outset. He's been through training, so he knows how to fight, but he might be a little skittish when it comes to real violence. He may need some emotional support on that front. Don't worry, though - physically, he's got the makings of a real powerhouse, and the Association's file claims he's a quick learner."

I nodded as he spoke, a smile blooming wide across my face. My own Pokémon.

"Can...can I meet him?" I asked.

The Professor grinned, pressing a few buttons on the console. The screen blipped off, and a brief whirring noise signalled the ball's release from its anchoring. He took the ball, rotating it into a Trainer's grip, button pointed outward, without so much as thinking about it. A reflex honed from decades of practice.

I moved forward, opening my palm. He clasped his hands around mine, pressing the Pokéball into my grasp. I took it and turned to the open space behind me, straightened my stance, and pressed the button.

A stream of electric light, condensing in the outline of a quadrupedal mammal perhaps a foot high. A variety of hues appeared, quickly defining themselves into a tawny fur coat with a fluffy, cream-coloured collar. Pointy ears, perked and already twitching. The light stabilised and a pair of shining black eyes stared at me, eager and excited.

Slowly, gingerly, I knelt down on one knee and produced a handful of berries. Eevee didn't need much encouragement; without a moment's hesitation, he trotted over to me and started eating from my hand. His little wet nose grazed the ball of my hand as he ate. Trusting.

Perhaps a little _too_ trusting, but we'd deal with that later.

As the little furball finished the berries and began nuzzling my hand, I felt a sensation overcome me. One I had never truly known before. Contentment, yes, and joy at meeting a new friend, but also a heavier one.

Responsibility.

* * *

Our last dinner together was strange. The Professor was actually _there_ , for one - he usually spent his evenings in the lab, tending to the Pokémon or working on his research. That had dropped off over the last few weeks - I guess he was starting to realise how little time was left before we flew the coop. Tonight, he'd even gone so far as to ditch the lab coat in favour of a maroon shirt. He might as well have been wearing a tuxedo.

Daisy, by contrast, seemed for all the world like it was just another evening. Only the meal itself suggested that anything was different - deep-fried Magikarp, croquettes, and heaping portions of thick-cut chips. My favourite, and in massive quantities. It was a statement in itself, a reminder of what would be here if - _when_ \- I came back.

To tell you the truth, I'd half-expected Blue to skip dinner entirely - he'd been vocal about his annoyance with the Professor's decision - but it seemed the allure of fresh-fried Magikarp overwhelmed him. Honestly, I was impressed with his composure. He'd been pissed for weeks that I was getting a starter and setting off before him. Perhaps he'd finally grasped that it was his fault to begin with.

He was, after all, the elder of us - if only by a week. His eighteenth birthday had come and gone. But the Professor had been insistent that we both get top-of-the-line starters, and acquiring those took time. He couldn't get two of them at once - not Pokémon of the standard he expected for his protégés. I hadn't had a problem with Blue going first, and neither had the Professor.

The Professor _had_ , however, playfully posed the question to him, feigning indecision - a rare chance to really rile Blue up. Hit him right in the ego, an affront to his assumption of superiority. It had all been in good fun, until Blue - the idiot - had to go and pull _that_ card.

The "I'm your _real_ grandson" card.

Bam. Buttons pressed, nerves pinched. I'll never understand why Blue thought that was a good idea, but it sure as hell backfired on him. The Professor actually _shouted_ at him - something I'd seen only twice before. Once when he'd caught Blue throwing rocks at the Professor's Tauros, and the other at my Mom.

After that, he'd brooked no further discussion. I was going first, Blue would get his starter when another could be found. Blue had protested, argued - Mew help us, even _apologised_ \- all to no avail.

I knew it was just a jab, but it still hurt.

Now, though, he'd seemingly come to terms with it. I guess he realised protest wasn't going to get him anywhere, and continued petulance would only sour the mood. For all his braggadocio, we were still brothers - as far as I was concerned, anyway - and neither of us wanted to say goodbye on a hard note. It could be a long time before we saw each other again.

Come the end of dinner, he even delivered a toast.

"Hey, everybody! Listen! I got something important to say." He stood, flute in hand - the Professor had broken out a bottle of champagne for the evening - and tapped it with his fork a couple of times. Unnecessary, since we were all looking at him already, but he could never resist the flair of a gesture.

"Now, you all know me—"

The Professor frowned in confusion, looking at me and jabbing a thumb towards Blue. "What's his name again?" he asked.

Blue ignored the sally, instead continuing his oration. "You _all_ know me. Soul of generosity, no question. But when Gramps first told me that Red was gonna be joining our family, I was against it. That _nerd?_ That _weirdo?_ Dumbass who reckons you could breed a Seviper with a Zangoose if you had the balls to stick 'em in a room together? 'Tard who thinks Rock types are vulnerable to Electric attacks? I took one look at that scraggly, skittish little kid and I said to myself _Ah, c_ _'_ _mon Gramps, we can do better than that_."

"And you showed up, and you took up in my room and you ate our food, you cried a lot and you were scared of everything - but hell, I guess Gramps saw something in you, cause you were something special. Couldn't talk to the other kids for shit, but you're a born Trainer if ever I saw one. You were in the lab every damn day, nerding it up with the old coot or givin' Mareep the shocker or whatever. You played with the Pokémon, you studied 'em, ran the sims, everything. You even got Gramps to get a couple packages in from Hoenn, and wouldn't you know it? Now we've got a baby Zangoose and a _really_ conflicted Seviper."

Chuckles all around.

"So I guess you're not a _total_ retard. You got the theory down - good enough, anyway. And now Gramps is gonna let you go to town on the Elite Four, 'cause he's got too old to split Agatha in half himself."

The Professor was leaning back, hands resting on his belly, mildly amused. Daisy was leaning on one closed hand, peering at her younger brother with scepticism, rolling her eyes and sighing at every puerile turn of phrase. I was busy trying not to tear up.

Hey, coming from Blue, this was _tender_.

"Don't let the head start make you feel safe, now. Watch your back, 'cause I'm gonna be on your scent like a Houndoom."

He raised his glass, as did the rest of us.

"Smell ya later, bro."


	2. True Colours

On a level, I really did want to say goodbye to my Mom.

Yeah, she'd put me through hell. She'd nearly killed me, and refused to see that she'd done anything wrong. She'd tried to live through me, she'd expected me to take the place of a father I'd never really known. She'd endangered my life out of sheer delusion.

But that was all it had been. Delusion. After my biodad died, she'd spent most of her life in front of the TV. It'd be easy to pin her down as negligent - and make no mistake, she was - but it was a negligence and dissociation from reality born of grief. She took refuge in the escapism, and over time it became her reality. When she tried to push me into the grass, she didn't realise the danger she was putting me in. She'd really come to believe it was as simple as sending an unprepared ten year-old into the wilderness and expecting him to come back a Champion.

And for all that had happened, she'd have liked to see this day. It was, after all, what she'd wanted in the first place. I could have invited her; could have gotten the Professor to promise he wouldn't report the violation. He would have hated it, but if I asked, he would have done it.

But while he wouldn't stop me from inviting my Mom, by that same token of respect I wouldn't ask it of him. After all he'd done to protect me from her, it would be a slap in the face that he didn't deserve.

I didn't know what sort of state she was in these days - the Professor had wielded his influence as a shield to keep her away from me, and what few meetings we'd had were uncomfortable, harried, and brief. She'd lie in wait for me after school, wearing too much makeup and a smile of equal parts desperation and adulation, pressing some candy bar or Pokémon toy into my hands as she spoke breathlessly and without pause. Asking questions about my schoolwork, how my life was going, was the Professor treating me right, look how you've grown, I miss you I love you my boy my precious boy...

I never said anything. I was too scared. She reeked of anxiety, wine, and cheap perfume. I knew I wasn't supposed to be seen with her; I didn't _want_ to be seen with her. She was embarrassing and desperate - a thin, twisted, ghoulish parody of the mother I'd grown up with. She'd keep her hands on my shoulders for a few minutes while she raced through a one-sided conversation, until inevitably the Professor or a teacher would notice and step in. Every time she'd protest with empty reassurances that _no, it's fine, it's okay I'm allowed to see him_ , and every time she'd be ignored. And I'd be hauled away, mute and shaking.

She spent a few short stints in jail for violating restraining orders, and even underwent a brief committal to a psychiatric facility. As the penalties mounted, she came to accept that she'd lost me. The unexpected visits had slowed, then stopped entirely.

She was frightening, manipulative, and negligent in the extreme. She'd almost killed me, and she'd never admit she'd been wrong. She was the worst parent in Pallet Town - and, for all I knew, the world. She'd threatened to kill herself if she couldn't have me, _right in front of me_ \- her only son, a boy of twelve. She was abusive, and getting away from her was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

But for all that, she was still my Mom.

One day, I promised myself, I'd come back and see her.

Blue hadn't made it to the farewell ceremony by the tall grass, either. Daisy had knocked on his bedroom door, and when there'd been no answer she'd ducked her head in to check. Gone. No note, nor had anyone seen him leave. It was strange, given how reconciliatory he'd been last night - but perhaps seeing me go on without him was something he didn't want to be around for. He could be unpleasant to be around when he felt slighted. It was unintentional - there was no malice behind it - but he could, and he knew it. His decision not to attend might have been intended as a courtesy.

Naturally, it was all anyone could talk about. Typical. He wasn't even _here_ , and it was still all about Blue.

I leaned against the masonry of the town wall, the open gate to my left providing shade from the early autumn Sun. The gate was eight feet tall and just as wide, solid oak, and always barred come dusk. It also had the particular distinction of being the only city gate in Kanto that opened _inward_. Naïveté, a gesture of welcome, or just bad design? Nobody was quite sure, and nobody cared to fix it; the gate's quirk had become emblematic.

That was one of the perks of living in Pallet Town - on a peninsula with a shoreline too steep to be accessed by sea and a land passage only traversable through the Reclamationist fortress of Viridian City, there were few serious threats the outside world could pose. It is in such places that practicality cedes ground to tradition.

Leaving aside the notable absences of Blue and my Mom, my departure ceremony boasted an impressive turnout - Daisy and the Professor, obviously, as well as the Professor's Dragonite, his aides, and a few dozen locals - most of them Trainer retirees I'd seen about the Ranch at one time or another. Between the temperate climate, relative safety, low cost of living, and access to the Professor, Pallet Town was a popular destination for former Trainers.

The convoy had even brought a small news team down from Viridian, presently engaged in an interview with the Professor. He was all smiles and enthusiasm, boisterous laughter when the interviewer made even the most passably amusing remark, constantly gesturing towards me in an effort to turn their attention my way. Having been the face of Pokémon research for some twenty years, he was quite used to dealing with the media.

He was also, as he'd confided in me, _fucking sick of it_.

The TV crew engaged the Professor for what seemed like far too long. The Sun continued to rise, and the heavy gate ceased to provide shade. I pushed myself from the wall and moved towards the town's exit, hoping that my obvious impatience would stir them on. I was ready to go. My backpack, camping supplies, food for myself and Eevee, Pokéballs, the Pokédex the Professor had gifted me with - I was _ready_. If I could have, I would have simply set off there and then.

But the Professor had impressed upon me the importance of maintaining a good public image, and it was never wise to disregard his advice lightly. Big fight purses were very rare - much more so than the media made it seem - and for most professional Trainers, the key to financial solvency was endorsements. Private Pokémon battles were a zero-sum game, and for every Arc won, there was an Arc lost. Signing on for even a minor advertising contract was worth more than a decent Trainer would make from actual competing in a year, so establishing a friendly relationship with the press was critical from the outset.

It was the only way the Professor could ever have financed his studies. Maintaining a large ranch with cutting-edge equipment and a permanent research team was tremendously draining, even in a place as rural and cheap to live as Pallet Town. He didn't just contract with Silph Co., he was one of their most prominent faces. The easy banter, the air of casual command, the understated sense of _authority_ \- they were honed through decades of practice, and more critical to the continued operation of his lab than any amount of scientific expertise could ever be. A fact he lamented, but couldn't afford to deny.

By contrast, Blue couldn't get enough of the media's gaze. The attention, the opportunities for wit and showboating, the chance to shock and amaze an audience - he loved every second. By mere virtue of being related to the Professor, he'd already gotten a taste of the limelight. By entering the competitive circuit, he could fully expect to be bathed in it...which made his absence all the more perplexing. Paparazzi and a crowd – Blue's favourite breakfast.

Rather than draw attention, I forced myself to stare out beyond the gate. The view was calming - but more importantly, I figured the image of a Trainer gazing into the untamed wilds would look striking.

I rested a hand on Eevee's Pokéball, since that seemed like the dashing thing to do.

Beyond the gate, the long grass started abruptly, going from paved concrete to waist-high stalks in a hard line. The grass was maintained as, again, a matter of tradition. The wall was a tacit acknowledgement that wild Pokémon were dangerous to human settlements, but the tall grass freely bordering the town stood as an olive branch.

 _We will take this much space for ourselves, and not an inch more. We may mingle, we may meet, but beyond this point all is yours._ The line between our worlds.

I assume my pose was suitably impressive, because it wasn't long before the news team finally made their way over to me. The camera operator - a twenty-something guy in a short-sleeved beige shirt, _irresponsibly_ tall - was the first to arrive. His hair was a blond mop, his eyes were lined by thick, black plastic glasses, and his chin sported the stupidest, scruffiest goatee I'd ever seen.

"Hey mate," he said. "You ready?"

The reporter followed behind closely – a short, obese, middle-aged man convinced that there was no male pattern baldness that could not be defeated by a sufficiently determined comb-over. Following up behind him was a taller, gaunter man in his forties - sporting a fuller head of neatly-combed hair, blond and grey indistinguishable. Surprisingly muscular for his age, draped in a plain white t-shirt, and bore a large disc made of some reflective fabric.

He started moving about me, placing the disc at different angles and turning to the cameraman for confirmation. The camera operator glanced at his screen, made hand signals this way and that, until eventually giving a grinning thumbs-up. I didn't dare move.

"Got it?" asked the reporter.

"Yeah, we good," said the cameraman.

"I like the light we've got here. Really has pop, you know?" the other man chimed in.

"Mmm, good pop," the cameraman agreed.

The reporter leaned in to see the screen. "Oh, that's nice pop, there. Good pop, good pop."

I stood there, wondering what in the sweet tits they were talking about. The reporter, apparently satisfied with the ambient pop levels, turned his attention to me and thrust a microphone uncomfortably close to my mouth.

"Here we have him, the protégé of Samuel Oak himself!" the reporter half-bellowed. "The Red Seviper! The scion of Pallet! He Who Would Be Champion, in the flesh! Tell me, young lad, what drove you to become a Pokémon Master? The money? The glory? The women?"

"Uh," I said, fingers drumming anxiously against my leg. "Well, depends what you mean by 'Master', exactly. I keep hearing the term, but it always seems really ill-defined."

The reporter kept his broad smile fixed upon his face, but the eyes grew flinty.

"But. Ah. Well, assuming you mean becoming a really good Trainer and such...well, I guess it just always seemed like the thing to do. You know?"

The microphone fell, and the reporter's overbearing enthusiasm was replaced by a sigh of open exasperation.

"Come on, kid. You need to give us more than that. You're continuing a dynasty, here."

I nodded, cheeks flushing.

"Give us the answer again, eh?"

Another nod. He raised the microphone, practically pressing it against my lips this time, and repeated the question - identical to the very syllable, I noted.

"It's something I've always wanted to do," I said, trying to project more confidence than I felt. "It's in my blood, I guess. My biodad was a great Pokémon Trainer, and my other Dad is one of the greatest who's ever lived. Don't know what else I could do, really."

The reporter nodded, lowering the mic.

"Okay, that's better. This time, though, I want a bit more enthusiasm. Something a bit grander, yeah? 'It's my destiny', something like that. You're gonna shatter the Gyms, you're gonna crush the Elite Four, you're gonna tear Lance to pieces and bathe in dragons' blood."

"Uh..."

"Pump it up, y'know? Show some energy, talk with your hands! Move around a bit!"

"Not too much," the cameraman said.

"Don't wanna lose that pop," added the reflector guy.

The reporter shook his head. "Don't lose the pop. _Work_ the pop."

" _Be_ the pop," the cameraman said.

"You _are_ the pop, mate," said the reflector guy. "Keep that in mind, okay?"

This went on for a few iterations, with the team repeating their encouragements and adjusting my stance slightly for maximum pop. By the end, they had me putting a fist forward as I declared I was going to slay the dragons with which Lance had dominated for so long and line my throne room with their skulls.

The Professor's Dragonite seemed uncomfortable.

In retrospect, it was kinda silly, but they were _really_ good at making me feel like I was being impressive. I was even starting to believe it. They were already calling me the Dragonslayer, though that seemed like a title that would take a bit more earning.

Eventually they called a wrap, once there was unanimous agreement that the pop had passed.

With the Sun rapidly approaching its zenith, and a long journey ahead of me, I _finally_ managed to say my last goodbyes.

Daisy, who'd been preoccupied with trying to keep her laughter at a manageable level during the interview, had a broad smile accompanying the water in her eyes. We went in for a tight hug, and when I tried to pull back, she didn't let go.

"It's okay, sis. I'll be back."

"You'd better, or I'm going to shovel so much Ponyta shit in your face, everyone'll think they call you Red for the pinkeye."

I snorted at that, and slowly prised myself from her grip. She let go, reluctantly. Then I turned to the Professor.

His pose was rigid, his face displaying a practised expression of composure. To a casual observer, he probably looked perfectly calm. You'd have to have lived with him for a decade to notice the way his breath caught as he inhaled.

He offered his hand, which I ignored in favour of a full hug.

"Be careful out there, Red," he whispered. "You can always come back."

"Thanks, Dad."

We broke the embrace, and he patted me - just once - on the shoulder.

I turned to the grass. It was a simple ceremony, this, but ancient. I would step into the tall grass, by myself. I would walk forward, the gates would close, and my journey into the world would begin. If there had been another Trainer starting out with me, we would have gone through separately. We would meet up on the road ahead and travel together, but the first step was always taken alone.

Alone, but for one. There was someone else who would take this step with me.

I plucked the Pokéball from my belt, flicking it open. A jagged arc of pale blue energy streaked out, crashed into the concrete at my feet, and condensed into a small scrap of paper.

what

what

huh

what

...

?

I must have stared at that note for half a minute before picking it up. Looking back, I think I was actually willing it to _become_ Eevee, as if reality had simply made a mistake and would remedy the error upon having it pointed out. You open a Pokéball, Pokémon comes out. _That_ _'_ _s how it works._

But when the note stubbornly insisted upon not being Eevee, I did, reluctantly, pick it up.

I was still too stunned to take the message in. Several lines of text - far too much information to process right then, but that wouldn't be necessary. All I needed to piece it all together was the familiar, three-word catchphrase resting at the end.

Slowly, I turned to the crowd behind me. Daisy, face in hand, arms tensed, scowling through her fingers. The Professor, stoic and controlled. The news crew, camera still running. The onlooking townspeople, whispering amongst themselves.

Everyone, staring at me.

You _bastard._

* * *

He'd sent Viridian News a message from his Pokédex, telling them precisely when and where he'd be arriving. He told them where to position the cameras for him. At what angle they should point, laterally and vertically.

Over the years, many people have looked at that video, at the image immortalised on posters and billboards the world over, and remarked on what it represented. _Look at the raw talent_ , they say, _the potential_.

These people do not know Blue. He was, and is, no mere prodigy. He did not stride into that image half-cocked, grinning at his tremendous good fortune. It was no stroke of luck.

When he walked towards Viridian's southern gate, silhouetted by the glorious lilac glow of an autumn sunset, arms outstretched, a roguish grin on his face - with Eevee at his side, a Pidgey on his shoulder, and a fresh-caught Ekans coiled around his right arm, fangs bared at the camera - he knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

Every little detail, calculated to perfection.

Of course he didn't catch and tame two Pokémon in nine hours, _while_ making the trek from Pallet to Viridian. He's a genius, not a magician. Nobody can do that, least of all on their first day as a Trainer.

But it wasn't his first day as a Trainer. He'd been a Trainer for weeks.

Ever since the spat with the Professor, he'd been spending every spare hour roaming through Route 1, secretly using the Professor's Pokémon to catch and train his own. The Pidgey's outspread wings, the Ekans' iconic pose - these weren't the result of something as pedestrian as mere _talent_. They were the product of dedication bordering on the fanatical, an analytical intellect tutored by the greatest scientist of the era, a painstaking attention to detail...and, yes, a healthy drop of natural ability.

But at the time, I wasn't admiring the brilliant display of showmanship. I was watching the footage of myself gormlessly turning to the camera, a scrap of paper in hand and a look of stunned, dull incomprehension on my face.

I looked like a sad Slowpoke.

He looked like a Champion.

* * *

"I'm going to kill him."

Across the dining-room table, the Professor arched an eyebrow.

He waited.

I sighed.

"Obviously I'm not going to kill him."

The eyebrow remained raised.

"Maybe _maim_ him."

The eyebrow soared higher.

" _Punch_ him."

He shrugged, and the eyebrow finally descended. He uncapped a pair of beers, placing one in front of me before taking a pull of his own.

"Why do you do that?" I asked. "Always have to take things so literally?"

He half-shrugged, absorbed in the bottle. He drank rarely enough that the novelty always seemed to fascinate him.

"Trainers are figures of considerable influence, Red, and a great deal of that influence is derived from reputation. When you make an idle threat that you fail to carry out, you look weak, and people will be less inclined to listen to the next one. When you make a declaration, it must carry the weight of truth behind it."

"Fine. I'm going to punch Blue, in the stomach, _fairly_ hard."

He raised his bottle to that.

"See that you do."

We drank. Setting my bottle down, I gazed over his shoulder and out the window. Night. For perhaps the seventh or eighth time, the thought _I could just set off tomorrow_ flashed through my mind for a second before being quashed by _but you don_ _'_ _t have a Pokémon._ It was incredible how many times the same, obviously flawed idea could occur.

"When I catch him, I'll..."

The Professor's eyes flicked up to meet mine. His eyebrow was poised, twitching, just _waiting_ for an excuse. I dropped my gaze to the bottle, allowing my shoulders to slump.

"...can I, even? Get Eevee back?"

He swished a mouthful as he considered the question, swallowing before answering.

"Strictly? Yes. Eevee is registered to you, you can claim him back. You'd have every law backing you."

He hesitated. I didn't fill it in for him. I just waited for him to say it, and jumped in when he did.

"But-" we said, simultaneously.

He stalled at that for a second, scowling slightly, before continuing.

" _But_ it would ruin the story. Being a Trainer is as much image as anything else, and he pulled off a major coup today. If you demand Eevee back, he looks arrogant and entitled."

I stared pointedly.

"That's not good for you either, Red. As far as the media's concerned, you two are rivals now. It may not seem like it, but your position improved _tremendously_ today. This morning, the pair of you were Professor Oak's protégés. Curiosities, two children to keep an eye on. Tonight, you are Red and Blue. Childhood rivals, jostling for supremacy. You may not see it now, but you only lost _today_ _'_ _s_ battle. Play this right, and today's events will be remembered as nothing more than the opening shots of a legendary feud. How you react to this will determine _both_ of your images for years to come."

He raised one hand, palm upturned.

"You can demand Eevee back, and have him returned to you. Blue will look like a spoiled child, and you will look resentful and petty."

His raised his other hand in the same manner.

" _Or,_ you can take it in stride. Make an address to the Viridian crew tomorrow. You can laugh, congratulate him on his clever little prank, and tell him that he can keep the Eevee. Tell him that you'll be right behind him, and that if he wants a war, he's got one. The press will eat it up, and both of you will gain prestige."

A minute passed in silence. I rocked my beer around and around on the wooden table, considering his proposition. Finally, I spoke, unable to keep a note of defeat from my voice.

"How long before I can get a starter?"

"Blue's was due to arrive in a week," he said. "A Squirtle."

I nodded, more to myself than to him. Squirtle was a solid Pokémon - fantastic, really - but...

"A week?"

"Yes." An idea seemed to strike him. " _Unless_..."

I raised my head.

"Unless...you remember that Pikachu I caught yesterday?"

I frowned. "The violent, angry, feral one?"

He nodded.

"The one that electrocuted the first aide who tried to feed it?"

Another nod.

"Who would have killed Jean if she hadn't been wearing a rubber insulation suit?"

Once more, he nodded thoughtfully.

"You're saying I should take a murderous, wild, untamed, Electric mouse? To battle the Ground and Rock Gyms?"

"High-stress situations bring Trainers and Pokémon together faster than anything, Red," he said. "And every day you spend waiting for a starter is another day that Blue pulls further away. How great a lead are you willing to give him?"

I stared at him, mouth slightly open but without words to speak. He couldn't be serious. The Professor raised his hands, palms open.

"I'm simply proposing an option," he said. "Perhaps Brock's Onix is secretly vulnerable to Th...to Thun...Thundershoaaa—"

He held his breath, face tensing in a frown, but he couldn't help himself. The smile broke through, and his fist pounded the table as he burst out laughing.

I rolled my eyes.

"Dammit, Professor," I said. "I actually thought you were serious for a second."

"I am _disappointed_ ," the Professor said between chuckles, "that you would think so little of me."


	3. Alpha Males and Also-Rans

This time, there was no film crew.

The morning was overcast, grey without being dismal. Cool, but not cold. Damp rather than wet, unwelcoming rather than forbidding, warning rather than threatening...

...I was probably projecting a bit.

Admiral stood next to me, hopping impatiently from foot to foot. I hadn't known my new Squirtle for even twenty-four hours, and he'd spent much of that sleeping, but I'd already studied his personality in detail. The Professor had given me the Association's file on him the day after Blue's stunt, and I had devoured the document a dozen times over before I'd had the chance to meet him.

Boisterous, impatient, and impetuous to a fault. He'd obey when it mattered, the file assured me, but he was willful and had little patience for rules. He was strong, he was talented, and he knew it. Arrogant. A persistent need for attention, adulation, and excitement. A Pokémon born for the spotlight.

I'd been tempted to call him Blue.

Despite the dreary weather, a surprising number of well-wishers had appeared for my second departure. Maybe they wanted to show their support, or maybe they were hoping my brother had managed to arrange another prank all the way from Pewter City. The way they all kept swivelling their heads around, you'd think they were _expecting_ it. Maybe he _had_ arranged something. Hell, we hadn't heard anything about him for almost a full day; perhaps he'd resurrected Mew and was on his way back to cleanse evil from Kanto, end all human suffering, defeat entropy, and nick Admiral.

Yes, I was bitter.

I had spared myself the cameras, at any rate. I'd followed the Professor's suggestion after I lost Eevee, acting like it was no big deal. There wasn't a chance in hell that they believed me - you could actually _see_ my jaw clench as I shrugged - but it provided a more compelling narrative than "Kid Loses Starter, Cries Like a Little Bitch," so they ran with it. The next Viridian convoy wasn't due for another few days, though, and I wasn't willing to wait any longer just for some photo op.

Some quiet goodbyes, a few in-jokes and reminiscences. Five different people joked about checking my Pokéball, each thinking they were clever. Worse than the flippant, though, were those who patted my back with pity in their eyes. Daisy pressed a Ponyta figurine into my hand. The Professor went for a hug this time, a quick pat on the back, a smile. The entire ceremony had an air of irony - it was difficult to make a grand farewell when you already did that last Thursday.

I added 'catharsis of an emotional goodbye' to the list of things Blue had robbed me of.

The gates stood open, and the clouds ahead promised that delaying would not be to my benefit. I walked to the edge of the grass, the arch of stone masonry above me. A glance down to check Admiral was still there - he was, and he looked back at me with gleeful excitement plastered across his face. The taller stalks of grass swayed, brushing my fingers. I took a deep, shuddering breath of the cool morning air.

I stepped forward, and crossed the line.

One step. Two. Three.

Behind me, gates creaked. Wood met stone with a thud, a great beam _thunked_ into place to bar the way.

I suppressed the urge to choke, to gasp. A surge of fear struck me, loneliness and isolation, but I tamped it down. The way back was shut. The only path was forward.

It was a blustery day. High winds screamed over the cliffs Pallet Town had been built atop - deafening, freezing, and invigorating. The weather's violence shook me from my reverie, disrupting my self-pity and filling me with a shot of adrenaline. I was _here_. On my way. Beginning an adventure I'd dreamed of since I was a child. I was going to strike out, carve a name for myself, change the world for the better. When I returned to Pallet Town, I would not be Professor Oak's son. I would not be Blue's adopted little brother. I wouldn't be the kid who could rattle off all 150 of Kanto's Pokémon but couldn't tie his shoelaces until he was six, I wouldn't be the weirdo who practised throwing rocks at targets for hours on end. I would be Red Oak, Pokémon Master. Admired. Beloved.

Respected.

We found the road quick enough, but didn't stick with it. The road to Viridian City was straightforward enough - the thin strip of land that was the Pallet-Viridian route left little opportunity to go far awry - and if I was going to be a Trainer, now was as good a time to start as any. Admiral had some combat training, he was familiar with the basic commands, but he needed exposure to real battle. And capable though he was, I needed more Pokémon.

Admiral raced ahead, disregarding my commands to heel. Association-raised from birth, he would have had little opportunity to explore. If this new world seemed large to me, it must have been massive for him. No amount of shouting would slow him down, and I found myself breaking into a run to try and keep up with him. Some twenty feet ahead, a trio of Pidgey launched into the air, flapping madly. A stream of pressurised water rocketed upwards, clipping a wing but failing to take the bird down. When I caught up with Admiral, his eyes shone with maniacal glee as he laughed in short, nasal _honks_.

I had to join him in his laughter, even as I ordered him to stay close. He stuck his tongue out and made to dash again, but was cut short when he condensed into a beam of red energy.

He was pouting when I let him out. Adorable little dickhead. He made no further attempts to bound away, but kept surreptitiously glancing at the hand I held his Pokéball in. I promised him we'd find someone for him to fight, and that seemed to return a bit of spring to his step.

We made good time as we walked, but it took some time for an opportunity to make good on that promise. Pidgey and Spearow abounded, but their first instinct was to flee, not to fight. Packs of Rattata scurried away before us, their tails the only glimpse we caught before they vanished into their warrens. A pair of Growlithe barked alarm and hid. Even a Mankey - not usually ones to shy from a fight - bolted rather than face a confrontation. A few years ago, that would have been unheard of in these parts. Now, the Reclamation had made it a daily reality. Four hours we walked, and not once did anything confront us or return our challenges.

When we finally heard a high-pitched bark, I was actually relieved.

The entire route sat atop cliff-faces on either side - the east staring out into the Great Bay of Kanto, the west towards the distant shore of Johto - but here the terrain was so steep and rugged as to constitute another set of cliffs. To our right, the earth curved down into a great cove, providing shelter from the prevailing winds from the west. People unfamiliar with the area often took this welcoming offroad path, thinking it an easier journey. A couple of miles further, however, and the inland cliff would curve around to form a dead-end, and they would be forced to backtrack. This, locals would dryly remark, was why the road swept west instead of east - but tourists always think they know better than some village hicks at the end of the world.

To the left, the road swept upwards - a long and challenging uphill climb, with treacherous footing exacerbated by howling winds from the west. The way was narrow, steep, and unforgiving - and, of course, exactly the path we had to take. And with growing black clouds darkening the sky, we wanted to take it fast.

The barking was just audible over the high winds, coming from beyond a wide patch of tall grass that obscured its source. At least, it seemed to - between the screaming wind and the echoes generated by the uneven terrain, it was difficult to pinpoint a source. Somewhere just below the cliff's divide, I thought. Admiral glanced up at me, lowered to all fours in preparation for a sprint. I raised an open palm, then gestured for him to follow me.

We advanced as quickly as we could without being overloud. The short yipping barks grew louder and more aggressive, and Admiral shot ahead to place himself between me and their source. I couldn't deny his courage. But as we reached the edge of the grass, it became clear that the show of aggression was not for our benefit.

Two Nidoran, both male, stood in a patch of low grass some ten feet apart. One - the larger, it seemed, though it was difficult to be sure - had positioned himself atop a short stone shelf set into the cliff, perhaps six feet from the ground. The right side of his jaw had a deep cleft running through it, either an old wound or some birth defect. Below him, the other reared up on its hind legs, and it was from him that the high barks were coming. He was a darker, deeper purple than the other, a drop of venom beading at the tip of his horn. If not smaller, he was certainly younger.

A dominance challenge. These would often resolve without violence, but if we were lucky the two would come to blows. Then we could simply swoop in and capture the victor while it was weakened. I gave a short order to Admiral to hold, and while the look he gave me dripped contempt, he obeyed. The two Nidoran started at the noise, heads swiveling towards me but otherwise frozen, but I bowed my head in a supplicating gesture. After a wary moment, they returned their focus to one another, intruders forgotten.

The young challenger resumed his barking, flailing his paws in the air. The elder, with the advantage of size, high ground, and presumably experience, did not seem particularly concerned. A forceful demonstration would not be enough - if the young one wanted this territory, he would have to fight for it. The younger one, apparently realising this, lowered himself down to all fours.

He pawed the ground for a moment, hesitated, and then charged.

The shelf was much too high for him to reach, but a pair of lower flats provided access. He bounded to the first, then the second, and without the slightest pause hurled himself across the divide to where his opponent had braced himself in readiness, horn lowered.

The impact sent two of them tumbling off the shelf in a ball of shrieking and growling, horns and beaked mouths tearing at one another. They collided with a piece of jutting rock as they fell, separating them as they fell back to ground. They both rolled as they landed, not even pausing before they raced back at one another. If the impact pained them, they made no sign of it. They tumbled around each other, scraping and clawing and biting, emitting short barks and loud growls as they ripped.

They rolled, and the elder emerged on top, his sharp teeth tearing at the challenger's exposed neck. The younger one's growls and barks turned to shrieks, his hind legs desperately kicking up at his attacker's underbelly in short, reflexive movements. Claws dug into the exposed flesh, but the elder took no notice as he savaged the young one's neck and face.

Finally, he landed a solid blow, and the elder was propelled off him. Even as he rolled back to his feet, the younger pursued, blood streaming from his neck, driving his horn low in a vicious thrust. It connected, penetrating deep into his opponent's shoulder - had the elder turned a half-second slower, it would have been his throat.

The younger moved to pull his horn out, but it caught. He wrenched back, and the elder howled in agony, but he could not dislodge it. The older, realising his enemy was trapped, twisted his own head low and drove his horn into the younger's exposed side. The flesh tore easily, his horn ripping through the young one's side over and over, goring the trapped creature.

The younger was screaming now, a terrible keening noise of raw, primal fear. Finally, he managed to pull the horn free...

...and drove it back in.

The fight was over. The younger had lost. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds and the elder, while hurt, was still going strong. The challenger lunged again, but the attack was slower, clumsier. The elder dropped back, evaded, and rammed forward, driving his horn through the younger's belly and tossing him aside - but the youth got right back up, wobbling even as he stood, and pawed the ground for another charge.

He was going to die.

Too stubborn to give up, he was going to get himself killed. I wasn't about to watch this stupid creature end his life meaninglessly.

"Squirtle, end it!" I shouted.

He didn't need encouraging. Admiral raced into the fray - I should have instructed which Nidoran he was to attack, but fortunately he seemed to desire the greater challenge. A torrent of high-pressure water struck the elder Nidoran square in the side, propelling him into the cliff-face. He struggled back to his feet, but a second volley narrowly missed him and convinced him to take flight.

Thoughts of capturing the victor were forgotten. The younger was bleeding severely - he wouldn't last another few hours in the wild. I ran towards the injured creature, tearing a Pokéball from my belt, and threw it at him. It struck him, pulling him inside in a burst of blue energy, and jerked around as the Apricot within attempted to subdue him.

The Pokéball shattered, and the Nidoran burst out.

How the hell was he _still_ resisting?

"Squirtle!" I called. I'd given Admiral his new name only this morning, he wouldn't yet respond to it instinctively. There would be time for that later. "Knock him out, _gently_."

Domesticated Pokémon could generally understand human language, though they could not speak it. Exactly how that mangled command translated into Admiral's comprehension I will never know - but he seemed to get the gist of it. He did the best he could, unleashing a stream of high-velocity bubbles that knocked the injured creature flat on its side. He moved quickly towards it, even as it began struggling to get back up. Knees wobbling as it rose, the Nidoran let out a pitiful growl at Admiral's approach.

Glancing at me, then back to the Nidoran, Admiral sat on it.

The extra weight was too much. The Nidoran collapsed, exhausted and broken, his legs splayed out and kicking feebly. I threw a second Pokéball, wincing at the impact, and sagged with relief as a loud _click_ indicated a successful capture.

I plucked the Pokéball from the ground, a flush of pride swelling through my chest. Not quite how I had envisioned it, but your first capture is always a special moment.

There was no time to bask, however. Had he been left alone, he would have died within a few minutes. The Pokéball gave us a greater window - perhaps half an hour - but not enough. Viridian was still six hours away if I made good time, more likely eight. He needed field medicine, and he needed it now.

Beckoning Admiral, I moved to a patch of clear ground that hadn't been sprayed with Nidoran blood. From my belt I unclipped my First Aid Pokéball, flicking it open to deposit a white plastic medical kit on the ground. It was as I'd prepared it - already open, with a pair of Potions, multipurpose antidote, and an emergency burn heal all clearly labeled and ready to go. Needle and thread, bandages, disinfectant, tourniquets, and a few of the more uncommon antitoxins were carefully organised in the transparent compartments built into the underside of the case's lid. Beneath the surface layer of emergency kit was a collection of medicines, blankets, and distilled water that rendered the knee-high case far too heavy to conveniently carry.

When it came to medical preparedness, the Professor did _not_ fuck around.

I instructed Admiral to restrain the Nidoran, and hold him down if need be. With a Potion ready to spray and Admiral at the ready, I opened my fresh capture's Pokéball.

Despite the obvious futility, he tried to resist. A wild Pokémon, he had no conception of medicine, no comprehension of human language, and certainly no belief that the strange creature approaching him was trying to help. He kicked out at Admiral, growling and snapping, but it took no real effort to hold him down.

His entire right side had been brutally opened, muscle and even patches of bone exposed. Blood was everywhere, flowing freely. The side of his neck had been mangled by the elder Nidoran's beak, snipped and torn in multiple places. A wide gash marred his left cheek, probably from initial lunge.

And for all this, he was tiny. When I pointed the Potion at him, I realised my hand was as wide as he was tall. His little chest was heaving, his breaths growing shallower by the moment. I had underestimated the severity of his injuries. He didn't have minutes. He had _seconds_.

I pulled the trigger, and the Potion sprayed over the worst of his wounds. Blood began to clot, a pale pseudoskin knitting over the holes in his side and neck. His breathing eased and slowed as the painkiller took effect. Inside, I knew, the Potion would be identifying his blood type and muscle composition, adapting and replicating the tissues in crude approximation. Imperfect, but it would keep him alive.

Probably.

The Nidoran stopped putting up resistance - either because he'd realised I was there to help or because he had no strength left to fight, I did not know. The pseudoskin sealed together cleanly, which spared me the task of sewing him back together. An abnormal growth of muscle blossomed atop his shoulder, but it didn't appear debilitating enough to warrant improv amputation. I opted to leave it for the Pokécenter.

As the regeneration settled, I set to work bandaging up the various wounds - they were so extensive, I left him half a mummy. A low rumble rolled across from the west as I worked, and after a few minutes I felt the first spots of rain on the back of my neck. A glance upward confirmed the clouds had turned from grey to black, darkening the sky in all directions. While the cliff sheltered us from the worst of them, the westerly winds were still ferocious.

I would have pushed forward. Honestly, I would. I put the Nidoran back in its ball, stowed away my first-aid kit, and even set off back towards the road. The wind struck me like a sledgehammer as we left the ridge's shelter, but I endured. However, the sight of a Nidorino bearing fresh-but-superficial wounds, standing tall astride the cliff and directly blocking the path, exultant in its newfound power, was very much the final straw.

We retreated back to the shelter of a small cove and set up camp for the day. It was only mid-afternoon, but this would be the best opportunity for cover we'd find today, and it wasn't like we lacked for anything to do. Nidorino were aggressive and territorial in general, and this one was still thrilling in the rush of evolution, and the power boost that came with it.

Not to mention it probably had a bit of a bone to pick with us.

* * *

Our tent was sturdy, even as the scream of wind and the heavy patter of a torrential downpour beat upon it. Our portable heater radiated a solid wall of heat, battling against the chill that sought to permeate the canvas walls. The accommodation was small and modest, but in circumstances such as this I saw it as precious sanctuary. How did people even _live_ before Pokéballs? Trying to carry all of this would have been madness.

Not wishing to exert the Nidoran just yet, I sat with Admiral for a while and rehearsed some basic commands. Ordinary speech would suffice for the moment, but once we began finding ourselves in battles with skilled opponents it would be far too cumbersome. One of the critical skills that a top Trainer needed was the ability to rapidly communicate with their Pokémon in a personal, custom shorthand - partly for speed and efficiency, partly to avoid confusion as multiple Trainers called out commands, and partly so the enemy wouldn't know what you were ordering until the attack was already upon them. He was a quick study, if impatient and a little too fond of breaking out into spontaneous bouts of air guitar.

My initial concerns about the fate of the Nidoran proved unnecessary - the Potion had acquitted itself well. The young creature's breathing had stabilized, it showed no obvious signs of bleeding or severe pain, and had proven itself already capable of limping, huddling, and sulking. After the first ill-fated attempt to carve a path through the canvas walls in a bid for freedom was ended by Admiral sitting on him, I decided to begin the process of taming the creature.

"Hey, little fella," I said to the Nidoran. "How you doing there?" Admiral began relaying my words, speaking in a low babble that I _hoped_ was a reasonable approximation of what I was saying.

The Nidoran shifted its gaze several degrees to the left, as it wasn't yet facing the _exact_ opposite direction to me.

"You holding up okay there, buddy? Want me to take another look at that wound?" I reached my hand out to pat him, but as soon as my fingers made contact his hind legs slammed into the ground in a short, huffy _thump_.

"I'm not going to _hurt_ you, little guy. I just want to check you're okay." Admiral relayed this, and was met by nothing more than a low growl as the Nidoran shuffled further away, scooting forward until his face was pressed directly into the canvas wall.

Many Pokémon wouldn't respond to entreaties like this. Aggressive and territorial Pokémon - which this Nidoran _definitely_ was - often required a show of dominance before they would accept commands from their new master. I'd have to pin the Nidoran down, have Admiral Water Gun it. I didn't want to use corporal punishment, but if that was what was required to assert myself as the alpha in this little creature's mind, then that's what I'd do.

Later. It was getting dark, the little guy was hurting, and I just didn't have it in me to add to his humiliation right now. Besides, he'd be more cowed by shows of force when he was at full strength - if I dominated him now, he might ascribe his defeat to his injuries, and prove belligerent once recovered.

I dropped back from the crouch I'd found myself in, allowing myself to bask in the warmth of the heater, and wondered what I would name him. He was small, but damned if he wasn't a fighter. 'Scrappy' came to mind. 'Spike' had a nice ring to it. He was venomous, arrogant, and untrusting - perhaps another candidate for the name 'Blue'.

"Yeah, not giving him the power or anything," I muttered to myself. Admiral tilted his head at me, opening his mouth for a moment before closing it again. Apparently that didn't quite translate into Pokéspeak.

Blue was already on his way to Pewter City - apparently he hadn't stopped at Viridian Gym, for whatever reason - and I was still struggling to make my way out of Pallet. Some echo of the Professor's voice bounced through my mind with a vague admonishment to not let myself fall into bitterness, but I took some base satisfaction in ignoring it.

I looked at Nidoran, face buried in the canvas.

Mew knew how many miles away from me he was, the thought of me doubtless far from his mind, and yet his presence felt as strong as ever. I looked at the starter that was supposed to be his. The substitute for my Eevee - the Squirtle I'd spent several hours _actually_ calling Blue, before the Professor asked me for his name. On the spot, I blurted out my second choice, fearful of the scorn I was certain he would hold for a choice so snarky.

I looked at Nidoran, quivering with fear.

Even when I was naming my own Pokémon, I was thinking of him. Paying homage or passing insult, either way he held sway. Hell, I'd even based my _own_ name after his. I had been so impressed with his wit I'd leapt to emulating it, rather than making attempt to best him on my own terms.

I looked at Nidoran, shivering with anxiety.

Smarter than me. Faster than me. More beloved than me. Even when he took Eevee, people reacted with awe and admiration rather than the contempt that he deserved. Laughter and chuckles and lighthearted jibes, a crime and a betrayal treated as a witty gag. A lost friend, treated like a lost toy. But, I supposed, even that had been better than the pity. Those who looked at me like a lost idiot, with pats on the back and low soothing voices. I wasn't a child seeking their condescending sympathy, I was a Trainer. Even when I had played the Professor's game, laughed it off and made retorts, played the Farfetch'd to Blue's cold rains - even then, there were still plenty who had pushed forward with condolences and unsolicited wisdom.

I looked at Nidoran, shaking with rage.

I didn't want to be Blue's little brother. I was a Champion. I knew I would be. I hadn't done it yet, but it was within me. No question, no doubt. I just wanted everyone else to see it. To see more than the ignorant child that I was, to see who I was destined to become.

I looked at Nidoran, and I knew his name.

"Your name is Nidoking."

And, barely perceptibly, his little back straightened.

* * *

 _Feedback is always appreciated - I am a believer that art must be criticized to improve._

 _I am on Twitter, under the username RadHominin._

 _Due to an unexpected life event, The Line has been temporarily suspended. I anticipate chapters will resume in the second week of August._


	4. Dewdrop

_A.N.: "Due to an unexpected life event, The Line has been temporarily suspended. I anticipate chapters will resume in the second week of August."_

 _Turns out life had other ideas._

 _I underestimated the impact of these events. Life became quite troublesome for a while and, to be blunt, Pokémon fanfiction went right to the bottom of the priority list. But we're back now, and I can guarantee Chapter Five will be up next week. I feel confident in promising that, as it's already been written._

 _Note that, contrary to the previous chapter's tagline, this is_ not _the promised chapter 'Reclamation', as the final product was deemed too lengthy for a single update. That will come next week._

 _I apologise for the delay._

* * *

I arrived at Viridian Gym just in time to watch my first Pokémon die.

The Gym's theatre was sleek, dimly lit and noticeably cooled. The walls were dark grey and without adornment, barring the full-wall viewing window that gazed upon the battle floor below. Several layers of dark leather seats faced the glass, occupied only by a half-dozen onlookers, enraptured in the contest that was unfolding beneath. The room smelled of fresh vacuuming and sanitizer, sound coming only from speakers lined along the glass.

I sat, Gym application in hand, during the closing moments of a challenger's bid for his final badge. The screen embedded into the top-right corner of the window told that the Trainers - a young man named Jasper and, of course, Gym Leader Giovanni - had each suffered five defeats. Being a final-badge contest, both were using the League maximum of six Pokémon.

Giovanni had just deployed his Sandslash, crouched and ready, facing off against Jasper's Golduck. The Golduck was already positioned on a boulder near Jasper's platform, said boulder easily thrice the Golduck's height. The Sandslash began darting forwards across the Gym floor, a large and uneven space covered in rocks, dirt, fissures, and trees ruined beyond rescue. Jasper shouted a command - an indecipherable two-syllable noise that would have held meaning between only those two - and the Golduck opened its mouth to dispense a narrow jet of water, slicing through the air at _frightening_ speed. The Sandslash dived behind a rock before it struck, the water gun leaving a visible gash in the hard-packed dirt it had occupied only a second before. The Golduck redirected the attack to accommodate, sending a thin slice of deadly water across the contour of the boulder, seemingly in an attempt to anticipate the Sandslash's next move. The Sandslash made no attempt to escape, but rather braced itself for a sprint.

The Sandslash could not see its foe, but the moment Golduck's mouth closed - even before the last of the water had reached its destination - Giovanni shouted a quick "PAP" noise and the Sandslash tore from cover, racing to close the distance.

The Golduck continued to fire streams of water on its approaching opponent, but the Sandslash was quick and evaded them without trouble. The Golduck was leading its shots, even prematurely changing direction in anticipation of a dodge, but the Sandslash's agility was astonishing. A shout from Jasper and the jets ceased, Golduck leaning forward in concentration. Presumably it was utilizing some sort of psychic attack - I had seen very few of them in my life, and at the time I lacked the ability to distinguish them. The Sandslash shuddered and slowed, but took only a fraction of a second to shake it off and keep moving. It bounded onto a rock, then a second, and jumped upon a branch of one of the devastated trees not twenty feet from the Golduck's position - an easy jump for a Sandslash. It crouched, ready to leap…

…and the branch cracked.

Too worn from heavy abuse, and likely long dead, the branch could not endure the Sandslash's weight. The leap became a fall, the Sandslash hastily reorienting itself. It landed well, but the drop had rendered its landing position obvious, and the Golduck capitalized with another deadly volley of water. This time it found its mark, striking the Sandslash in the face and throwing it upon its side. Blood streaked the earth. The Sandslash tried to rise, but the water gun struck again in a long, sustained blast. It curled up, presenting its armoured hide to the onslaught, but the downed creature's screeching told all too clearly of the pain it was in.

The water gun's velocity began to falter, and Golduck descended from its position to make a cautious advance. The slowness of its gait and its rigid posture told of the psychic volley it was unleashing. The Sandslash curled ever tighter, shaking, helpless to defend against this manner of attack. The Golduck reached a position some ten feet from its opponent and stopped, wary to maintain distance from the Sandslash's mighty claws.

From this point the attack was methodical. The Golduck fired water in shorter bursts now, always ceasing well before its reserves reached exhaustion. When it wasn't firing water, it utilized psychic attacks, giving its glands time to replenish. After the third such attack, the Sandslash made a sudden move to rise, but was immediately struck down by another water gun. The Golduck was being careful to always have retain ammunition for water strikes, which were far more deadly than a Golduck's limited psychic capabilities. Giovanni, bedecked in a fine suit, hands held behind his back, barked a sharp command. The Sandslash responded with a keening wail.

The battle was lost. Sandslash was immobilized, bleeding heavily, and unable to retaliate. Yet Giovanni made no motion to return the defeated creature.

After perhaps six of these cycles, the Sandslash stopped moving.

Golduck stopped firing. The room was silent. Giovanni gave an annoyed grunt. He reached into his jacket's inside pocket, but did not withdraw it. The Golduck, not taking its eyes off its fallen opponent, made a three-syllable noise with an upward inflection. A question. Jasper pondered for a moment, then issued a short command. While I did not know their code, from Golduck's actions I comprehended its meaning.

 _Continue._

The Golduck resumed its attack, short strikes of water followed by psychic blasts. The room grew grim, the enthralling spirit of contest wilting in the face of inevitability. A young woman in a beret several seats from me covered her mouth with a fist, incapable of drawing breath. The attacks were shorter and weaker, with longer gaps between the strikes - the Golduck's reluctance was growing. And still, Giovanni made no move.

The Golduck reiterated its question, more anxious this time. Jasper repeated his answer, resolute and unhalting, but the bite of his lip evidenced his discontent.

Why was Giovanni doing this? Why was he letting his Pokémon die?

One more cycle, and the onslaught ceased. The Golduck made the same noise again, keening and raw. Jasper, the waver in his voice now clear, repeated the order to continue. But the Golduck instead turned its head to look at him, the anguish and resentment on its face unquestionable, and demanded the question once more - this time without hesitance, but accusation.

And even as it turned, Giovanni bellowed a commanding "PAP". With speed unbelievable, Sandslash leapt.

Digging its claw through the earth, it scooped up a robust pile of dirt, rocks, and sand, flinging them into the startled Golduck's face as the Golduck spun back towards its opponent. It flinched, raising its webbed hands to block the debris, but even as it did so the Sandslash closed the gap and slammed its claw clear through the Golduck's abdomen.

Golduck screamed. A torrent of water shot from its mouth, a wild and unaimed attack born of panic. But the Sandslash's head was low, and water struck only scale. Sandslash pulled its other claw far back and struck deep, anchoring Golduck with the first claw and launching into a rapid series of strikes with the second that gored Golduck's torso from chest to navel. A red light streaked from Jasper's platform, but the Pokéball's beam was several feet off, and the light struck only dirt.

The Sandslash reared back, drove its bladed hand under the Golduck's jaw, and Golduck went limp.

The red beam caught Golduck true this time, but hope had fled. Not a second later, a beam fired out from Giovanni's platform, and Sandslash was returned. An aide appeared by Giovanni's side to retrieve Sandslash's Pokéball and tore from the room - doubtless to seek immediate medical attention.

Jasper clutched his Pokéball, shock choking him. He cradled it, a single plaintive syllable the only noise he made, inaudible. A moment passed, and Giovanni spoke hard and clear.

"Your opponent is defeated when dead or returned, not before."

By the time Jasper had collected himself enough to respond, Giovanni had already left.

* * *

Naturally, as a first-ring challenger, my own battle would not be nearly so intense.

First-badge battles were intended as more of a competence checklist than a serious show of force. Both challenger and Leader would bring a single Pokémon, and I would be expected to demonstrate proficiency in the basics - the ability to control and command a Pokémon, take instruction from a Gym Leader and abide by League regulation, and defeat a minor foe of modest power. Deaths in such fights were extremely rare, and usually accidental.

I filled out my application, affirming that I had read and understood the League's rules and procedures. Eight badges were necessary to compete in the Indigo Tournament, badges were non-transferable, a $495 fee was payable per Gym battle - refundable in the event of victory - serious breaches of protocol would result in being barred from all League-sanctioned events for a duration of time determined by tribunal, and performance-enhancing drugs were not mandatory but were keenly encouraged.

I was given a timeslot - about an hour and a half away - and returned to the viewing room, watching as a pair of Squirtle cleansed the earth of blood. The room had emptied but for the girl with the beret, who now took long, slow breaths. The screen showed the day's schedule, containing only a seventh-ring battle in half an hour for a young woman named Lapis, whom I recognised as the girl in the room with me. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. Instead, I drew out my Pokédex and began re-reading accounts of first-ring battles with Giovanni, looking to see if there some useful detail had escaped my notice.

Giovanni had very few first-ring challengers. This wasn't unexpected - the vast majority of Kanto's population lived out to the east, and Viridian was often a Trainer's last stop before the Indigo Plateau. Still, even few Viridianites made there first appearance here - I supposed he must have been quite an intimidating figure. Over the next few minutes, Lapis' breathing calmed, and a steel settled over her.

Shortly thereafter, the PA announced that the next battle would begin in thirty minutes. Moments later, my own name appeared on the schedule. Lapis took notice, her head tilting as she saw the news. As if becoming aware of my presence for the first time, she turned around and looked at me.

"Red?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"Professor Oak's son?"

"That's me." Apparently I'd already developed a reputation.

She nodded, quietly commenting "good luck," and returned to staring at the arena.

We lapsed back into silence, and I idly fingered Admiral's Pokéball - Nidoking was in the Pokémon Center. After a minute, the PA sounded up again.

"Would Trainer Red please report to reception? That's Trainer Red, to reception please."

I admit, the announcement scared me. It felt like being called into the principal's office without warning, like I had done something terribly wrong but had no notion what sin I had committed. I hesitated. But Lapis questioned me with a glance, and some part of my ego was unwilling to show fear in the presence of another Trainer. With affected nonchalance, so I shrugged and set off.

I emerged from the darkened room into the light of the reception. Beautifully maintained, with large cream chairs, potplants, and a thick beige carpet, it exuded understated elegance. A rush of mildly stuffy warmth greeted me as I walked through the door. Across the room was a lightly-coloured wooden desk, adorned with business cards, information pamphlets, and a thin computer screen. Behind it sat the receptionist, a smiling woman of about fifty. I approached.

"Mr. Oak," she said, a gentle tone to her voice. "I am terribly sorry, but I'm afraid there's been a scheduling issue. Leader Giovanni will be unable to meet with you today."

"Oh," I said, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. "Scheduling issue?"

"Yes. I'm afraid Leader Giovanni has been called upon for some urgent League business. He'll need to leave right after the next battle. We do apologize."

"Okay," I said. I wasn't happy, but there wasn't a great deal I could do about it. "Will he be available tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid not."

"If you don't mind, when will he be available? I can stick around in Viridian for a while if need be."

"I don't know, sorry. Depending on the nature of the business, it could be quite some time. You'd probably be best heading up to Pewter and beyond. Come back later, when you've got some more badges under your belt. I'm sure he'll be eager to receive your challenge."

I couldn't help but feel I was being brushed off. "If it's all the same to you, could I book the soonest available slot? I understand if that may be a while, just give me a ring when you know when it'll be. I'll make sure to inform you if I decide to leave the city."

She inhaled slightly, and the smile on her face grew. "Mr. Oak, I would really recommend you move on. We don't know when he might be back."

"I appreciate your advice," I said - lying - "but Gym Leaders are mandated to meet all challengers, or provide a second to occupy their place. If this is something to do with my father, it's a violation of League regulation. He does not have the right to refuse my challenge."

"I'm afraid there is no suitable second available at this time."

"Then please place me on the list."

"Mr. Oak—"

"I _insist_ ," I said, unable to keep an edge from creeping into my voice.

She hesitated, smile now fixed firmly upon her face. "Very well, Mr. Oak. I shall talk to Leader Giovanni and see what can be arranged. Please wait in the viewing lounge."

I thanked her, already feeling a touch of guilt about cutting her off. I returned to the dim viewing room, the coolness washing over me. Lapis looked at me, I tilted my head in a 'whatever' gesture, and sat back down. A few minutes passed, during which I began to regret the tone I'd taken. I didn't think I was _wrong_ , per se, but I did feel like I'd acted rather petulant. As I was mentally repeating the conversation, replacing my phrasing with something more friendly, the PA rang out again.

"Attention Trainers. Due to safety concerns, the Viridian Gym is now closed. All challenges are postponed until further notice. Please visit reception for rescheduling."

I sat, shocked. Lapis turned to me, confusion quickly turning to annoyance. She'd pegged that this was my doing, even if she didn't know how. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it with a dismissive exhalation. She stood and walked to the exit, leaving without a word. I wanted to defend myself, to explain that this wasn't my fault - even though it kind of was.

Instead, I remained seated, processing. How was I going to confront this? Storm in and demand an explanation? Call them out? Threaten to alert the League? Accept that this was clearly outside of my control and leave without a fuss? Honestly, shouting seemed like it'd be _really_ cathartic right now.

After a few minutes I stood, deciding on a calm-but-firm request for an explanation. I walked into the reception, the receptionist meeting me with the same forced smile she'd borne by the end of our last conversation.

"I'm truly sorry, Mr. Oak," she said, "but that last battle is believed to have caused some structural damage to the building. Leader Giovanni's Rhydon caused an earthquake, and a crack in one of the load-bearing walls has been noticed. The Gym must remain closed until inspections are conducted and the venue declared safe." She paused. _"In accordance with League regulations."_

"Right," I said tersely. "When will the Gym be reopened?"

"That will depend upon the nature and severity of the damage. It could be quite some time. I am truly sor—"

"Bullshit," I interjected, anger beginning to boil over. "Bull-fucking-shit. You know _damn_ well there's nothing wrong with the building—"

" _Mr. Oak_ " she said, an edge starting to come out in her voice. "We know nothing of the sort, and I must object to your tone. Please return later, when Leader Giovanni will _gladly_ receive your challenge."

"No."

"Mr. Oak—"

"No. Fuck you. Give me a real answer."

I'll admit, that was not my finest moment. It was pretty clear she wasn't pulling the strings here, but I was _pissed_.

"Mr. Oak, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"No," I said again. "I'm not leaving until I've had my battle, or until Giovanni comes out here and explains this his damn self."

"He's busy, Mr. Oak." The smile was gone now, her expression now stern.

"I'll wait."

"Mr. Oak, this building is now closed and I must _insist_ that you leave. Your behaviour has become threatening and if you stay, I will be forced to call security."

I opened my mouth to respond, but the door behind her desk opened. Through it stepped Giovanni, a gentle smile on his face.

"I don't think that will be necessary," he said with a genial tone.

"Mr. Giovanni," the receptionist said, "this young man has been very—"

"I heard, Ms. Wakelin. Would you be so kind as to give us a moment alone? I'm sure I can explain to the boy."

 _The boy._

She hesitated, then nodded curtly. "Of course, Mr. Giovanni." She stood, and exited through the same door from which he had just entered. Giovanni stepped back, an arm holding the door open, closing it after her. After she left, he turned to me, hands resting behind his back. It gave me a moment to take him in - hair slick and dyed black, a lined but robust face, tailored suit with neat purple tie - a seamless vision of clean professionalism.

He chuckled. _"Fuck you, give me a real answer."_ The profanity sounded strange, coming from such a deep and urbane voice. "You must learn to be more polite to receptionists, Master Oak. They are gatekeepers to many things, and wield more power than you know."

Charming, refined, and disarming. In a few words, he'd made me feel like a sullen schoolboy.

" _Mister_ Oak. I'm eighteen." It sounded pathetic even as I said it.

Another chuckle. "Indeed. _Mister_ Oak. My apologies for the impoliteness."

Well, fuck.

"Mr. Giovanni," I said, trying to insert some level of dignity into my voice, "I would like to know why my challenge has been denied."

"It hasn't, my dear boy. I'm afraid we simply cannot conduct battles in this venue until it is properly assessed by the authorities. Trainer safety is our number one priority."

"Because of the Rhydon?"

"Was that it?" he said, smile growing. "Then yes, absolutely. While it _grieves_ me to miss out on the opportunity to test the skills of such a young prodigy, we cannot compromise our commitment to Trainer safety."

"With respect, Mr. Giovanni, I find that difficult to believe."

He nodded. "Of course, I understand entirely. The timing must seem _quite_ coincidental, but coincidence it is. I'm afraid the hazardous nature of the Gym at this time is beyond our control." With a casual sweep of his arm, he reached out and pushed a potplant off the receptionist's desk, shattering it upon the ground. His smile widened. "See? This place is just falling apart."

I didn't know what to say. The only way to escalate this any further was to lodge a complaint with the League, and I doubted that would really pay off.

He picked up on my hesitation. "Tell you what, _Mister_ Oak. Allow me to take you to dinner tonight, by way of apology. My treat."

I didn't like it, but I didn't see anything more I could do. And I was curious. And kinda hungry.

"Thank you, Mr. Giovanni," I said, trying to muster what little gravitas I could. "I would be honoured."

* * *

 _Feedback is always appreciated - I am a believer that art must be criticized to improve._

 _I can be found on Twitter, under the username 'RadHominin'._

 _Chapter Five of Pok_ _émon: The Line will be released at 7:30pm New Zealand Time (1:30am ET, 6:30am GMT) on Wednesday, December 7th._

 _"Reclamation"_


	5. Reclamation

The restaurant was plush and warmly-lit, the air filled with spices and roasted meat, and Giovanni was in high spirits. A waiter stood over us, immaculately-dressed and presenting a gilded wine menu. We sat in a small, cozy booth, adorned with candles and a slightly obscene marble statuette of a Lucario.

"I'll have the grilled Magikarp, please," I said.

Giovanni laughed. "I appreciate the courtesy, Mr. Oak, but please do not restrain yourself to the cheapest dish on the menu. The braised Tepig here is quite excellent."

I nodded. "Thank you. The braised Tepig, then."

"And I will have the smoked Farfetch'd, with a side of Rowlet dumplings. And a bottle of that new Bounsweet cabernet - I've been dying to try it."

The waiter collected our menus with a bow, and bustled off. I turned my attention entirely to him, running through all the points I'd spent that afternoon reminding myself of. All that the Professor had told me of him over the years. _He is well-spoken. He is courteous. He appreciates these qualities in others. He'll respond best if you're polite, if you're urbane and sophisticated and all that. Speak like you're twice your age._ I'd spent half the afternoon reading etiquette guides on my Pokédex.

"So, Mr. Oak," he said, resting his hands flat upon one another, "I imagine you must have many questions. Where shall we begin?"

I admit, his presence was more intimidating than I'd expected. Not in a threatening way, mind - but to be seated across from a man of great influence and power speaking with you in such an intimate setting, was more than a little unnerving. I'd kind of hoped he'd have taken the initiative. I ran through all the questions which had been plaguing me during my afternoon wait in the Pokécenter - Nidoking had been pronounced fine, barring a few scars, and would be ready for travel by tomorrow morning - and settled on the most obvious.

"How's the Gym doing?" I asked.

"We will know when the structural engineers have completed their assessment. It could be open as early as tomorrow afternoon."

"Ah," I said, readying my carefully-rehearsed response. "A shame. I'll be setting off in the morning."

"A pity," he replied, smile broadening. "Please make sure to return soon. I _do_ look forward to your challenge."

"As do I, Leader Giovanni." _Proper titles. Deference. Follow his lead._

He nodded. "Then we understand each other."

"Indeed," I replied, inclining my head with a knowing smile.

Then I paused.

"Actually, no. I accept that my challenge has been declined, but I really don't know why. Is this to do with my father? I'm aware you two hate each other, but I don't want us-."

He waved his hand, laughing again. "Hate? Political disputes, my boy. There is no hatred in it, merely two great men who differ on some key issues. I assure you, I have nothing but respect for your distinguished father."

"Okay," I said, confused. "Then…why?"

"My boy, if you have one tenth of your father in you, then I am certain you can discern the reasons yourself. Your brother deduced my meaning the moment his challenge was declined, and pursued the issue no further. Rather, he requested an audience to pay his respects, and we had a wonderfully amicable meeting. He, incidentally, ordered the Tepig without prodding."

 _Yes, yes, Blue's a genius. We get it._

I took a moment to think it over, during which time the waiter arrived with our wine. He poured a glass for each of us, tilting the bottle one-handed from the base in a grip that was clearly physically impossible. I assumed a nearby Kadabra was keeping it from falling.

"Well," I said, "I _did_ notice you receive very few first-ring challengers, even among Viridianites. Do you just dislike taking them?"

"That is part of it, yes. Now, _why_ do I dislike taking them, Mr. Oak?"

Another moment of thought, piecing together what I knew of him. The immaculate suits, the dyed-black hair, the perfect inflection and eloquent manner of speech. His achievements, his status, his power. It was obvious, really.

"They're beneath your dignity. You're a member of the League Board. You were a leading figure of the war, one of the key negotiators of its end. You've got more money and political capital than all the other Gym leaders combined. You don't want to be seen making sure children know how to handle their Squirtles."

"And there you have it, my boy, all on your own," he said. "A man of my position can hardly be seen hand-holding kindergartners - even the particularly prodigious ones."

"But you _do_ take some first-ringers, don't you?"

A nod. "I do. The League expects that I will accept some, and while I do not wish to have my standing diminished by these engagements, I _absolutely_ cannot be seen to be avoiding them for the sake of image. So it is known in Viridian that I will be particularly harsh to low-ranking challengers, and geography mostly takes care of the rest. I rarely have to take overt action, as I did today."

"I understand. I apologise for placing you in that position, Mr. Giovanni." _You weren't in the wrong. Apologise anyway. He'll appreciate it._

He shook his head. "It is no great bother. After you left, I directed my Rhydon to open a small fissure in a non-essential wall. The inspectors will come, assess that the damage is real but minor, and our operations will resume before the day is out. Consider it your first lesson from a Leader."

"My gratitude," I said, feeling nothing of the sort. _Politeness, civility, etiquette. This is what he responds to._

"But," he said, a sly grin emerging on his face, "I _will_ admit that your father does play some small role in this."

"Oh?" I tried to sound mildly curious.

He spread his hands. "You are the son of Professor Oak. Great things are expected from you. I am not Champion, nor am I of the Elite Four. I will not have the opportunity to engage you on the Indigo Plateau, but I would prefer to do battle with the son of Oak when he is near the height of his power. Given our shared history, it seems fitting that I should be your final opponent before the Tournament."

"So I had the reason," I said. "Just not the meaning."

"Quite. I declined not out of hostility towards the Professor, but respect. I have great admiration for your father, despite our disagreements on policy."

I nodded, trying to conceal my inhalation as I geared myself up for the night's real topic. "The Reclamation."

"The Reclamation," he agreed. "I understand that your father's position on the issue stems from a place of compassion. What I think he does not appreciate is that _mine_ comes from the same. We have the same aims at heart, we differ only in our methods. You have not touched your wine."

I took a sip, remembering too late that I was supposed to swirl it around and sniff it first. I'd never been a fan of red wines, but this was so sweet it tasted more like the port that the Professor would break out when he had something to celebrate.

As far as wines went, it tasted delightfully unlike wine.

"It's very nice," I said, perhaps a touch dismissively. "But Mr. Giovanni, I have to ask. A place of _compassion?_ You're exterminating Pokémon by the thousands. With respect, how can you call that compassion?"

"My boy," he replied. "The subject of the Reclamation is quite complex, and does not lend itself to trite simplification such as that. It is true that the Reclamation has caused - and yes, _will cause_ \- the deaths of many Pokémon. But your remark overlooks an unpleasant truth. Thousands are dying, yes. But thousands _will_ die, one way or the other, regardless of what we do. The Reclamation aims to take the path of least disaster. It is terrible, but it is the burden of powerful individuals to determine how that must come about, that the bloodshed might be best mitigated."

I hesitated, wondering how far to press. I didn't want our first meeting to be marred by argument, but I needed to hear more than the soundbites. "Forgive me, Mr. Giovanni, I know it's considered rude to discuss politics at dinner—"

"But _fuck you, give me a real answer?"_ he asked, his smile broadening.

I couldn't help it. I laughed. So did he, heartily. It felt wrong to be so mirthful with a man who had championed such a horrifying crusade, but he _did_ have a very disarming charm to him.

"I wouldn't phrase it quite like that," I said. "But something along those lines, yes."

"It is fine," he said, waving a hand. "We are both gentlemen, are we not? We are quite capable of discussing grand issues without animosity. Besides, our food has yet to arrive - dinner is not yet begun."

Even as we were talking, I could feel the shift in myself. My speech patterns were growing more courteous, more flattering and carefully-chosen. My back was straightening. I'd worn the only dress shirt I had brought - a maroon affair that Daisy described as 'dashing' every single time she saw it - and even my internal monologue was becoming more polished. I was acting the part of a 'gentleman', but the act was internalizing so quickly it was becoming real. Was I being friendly to this monster just because it was the best way to get information, or because something so trivial as a smile and a refined accent had somehow caused my subconscious to regard him as a friend?

Was this face truly Giovanni, or merely a mask of his own?

"Mr. Oak, you are young, and I fear I must give you something of a history lesson. I do not mean to condescend, merely to explain."

"Of course," I said. "I appreciate that you have seen far more than me."

"Thank you," he said. He leaned back and opened a hand to the ceiling, a professorial gesture that radiated authority. "You are, of course, familiar with at least the generalities of the war?"

I was. Kanto and Johto had spent over a decade at war with one another - the twentieth anniversary of the Armistice was only a few months away. Both sides had suffered horrifying devastation, and an entire generation had been raised in the shadow left in its wake. No human alive hadn't heard of the horrors that it had heralded, or seen videos of the atrocities committed under its justification.

"I am."

"Yes. Yet, you did not know Kanto before it happened. You have only ever known Viridian as a fortress, not the peaceful city it once was. You have only known West Kanto as isolated and sparsely-visited, where once it was a beloved and included part of our nation. You have never known the wilderness as a place of peace and tranquility, only a dangerous realm to be avoided and guarded against."

He paused, and spoke more softly this time. "You have never known Rangers as custodians, only warriors."

That cut. He knew about my biodad.

He continued. "It was not always so. We have fought wars before, Mr. Oak. Always, they took a toll - on our people, our land, our Pokémon. But they always ended, and we always rebuilt. But when the Johtoans deployed the Bloom, they inflicted a wound upon our very world itself. One which does not heal, one which has left a terrible scar upon our land. We cannot restore it. We can only bind the wounds."

"And 'binding the wounds' means extermination?" _Nope. Wrong. Too blunt, too accusatory._

He sighed. "Our Pokémon are not as they were, Mr. Oak. The Bloom made them far more violent and aggressive. Once, a person could walk Route One unmolested. Once, their populations stayed low and manageable. The Bloom drove them to reproduce at unsustainable rates, and now their desperation makes them bolder. Those berries of astonishing properties, which we now import from Johto? Kanto was once abundant with them. Now they are extinct here, many breeds lost forever. The wilds have been stripped bare, our orchards pillaged by hordes of starving Pokémon. Cities build fortifications to the skies, Rangers die by the dozen, our city guards have tripled, and it is still not enough. It is not enough. You object to our work, Mr. Oak, but I note you made sure to acquire a trained Association Pokémon before you dared venture out. Twenty years ago, a Fearow would never be so desperate as to kill a human child for sustenance. Now, it is a regular occurrence. Eight children, in Viridian alone, this very year. That is not among all Pokémon, Mr. Oak. That is Fearow attacks alone. I understand your concern, but this is not an extermination. It is a cull."

"But," I said, trying to maintain diplomacy as the first hints of adrenaline began to surge, "a cull is a reduction in population. You - _the Reclamation_ \- is killing _all_ of them."

He shook his head. "Not all. Many we are capturing. But you are correct, all of the native Pokémon are being neutralized, in one way or the other. We cannot permit the genetic alterations wrought by the Bloom to persist in the wild population. If we do, we do not solve the problem. We merely grant ourselves a brief respite from it, and all the suffering we do inflict will be without purpose."

"But the ecosystem is built around their presence. It'll collapse if you remove them all."

He nodded. "It would. But every species of Pokémon in Kanto is also found elsewhere. We shall replenish areas with breeds native to the region as we go, imported from our neighbours. The morphological and behavioural differences are minor - our ecosystem will endure. What it _cannot_ endure is the continued presence of so many contaminated specimens."

"I get that," I said. "Really, I do. But—"

" _Do_ you, Mr. Oak? When I was a child, we could go out into Viridian Forest without fear. We could pick oran berries and concern ourselves only with an accidental Weedle sting, not a cluster of Beedrill. We could pet a Caterpie. We could watch that same Caterpie spin its cocoon in the autumn, and steal a kiss as it emerged in the spring. If we stepped on a Pikachu's tail, it would shock us as it ran, not leave a young woman with third-degree burns. By what right do we deny our own children the safety and wonder that we ourselves once enjoyed?"

The anger was beginning to grip tighter. He wasn't _talking_ any more, he was _speaking_. I'd heard these words before, these carefully-rehearsed anecdotes. "But this is _our_ fault," I said. " _We_ did this to them. Humans. We mutated them, turned them into weapons for a war they had no part in, we can't then turn around and blame them for what they've become."

"No, we can't. We can blame them no more than we can blame a faithful Arcanine which has gone rabid. It is not the creature's fault, merely the result of terrible circumstance. But regardless of where blame lies, we cannot allow it to pose a threat to our loved ones. We must mourn its passing, and mourn it we do, but we cannot allow our resolve to waver out of compassion. What once was, is no longer, and we must accept that."

 _Stop accusing. Stop arguing. Present alternatives, work_ with _him._ "But there are other ways. They're working on a cure - just last week, they announced there'd been a breakthrough. And when they deploy it, there'll be no need for any of this."

" _When_ , indeed, Mr. Oak," he said gravely. "I have been following the development of this cure with great attention. Your father's arguments are not lost on me. But the number of so-called 'breakthroughs' has become disheartening. Every month, we are told of some new revelation that will surely herald the end of the Bloom. And all the papers and the stations sing its praises, make wild promises of a new dawn that they know they cannot keep. And a few months later, it turns out they'd just tested it on a particularly timid group of Pidgey, or the Rattata simply hadn't been in heat, or it only works on five percent of an obscure breed of Oddish. But the media never talks about that, Mr. Oak, they never speak of the stalls and the sad reality, because that sort of news does not sell papers. If such a cure even can be synthesized, it is many, _many_ years away from readiness. And every day that passes, another child dies at the hand of our beloved Arcanine.

"And perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps six months from now, Kanto shall be blessed with some miraculous panacea. And if that happens, I have no doubt that the efforts of the Reclamation will be decried by armchair historians, labelling it _atrocity_ and _abomination_. And I shall be condemned as one of the worst villains of all history. But we do not have the benefit of their hindsight, Mr. Oak. We can act only on the information we have, and that information is without ambiguity. We must - _regretfully_ \- inflict this suffering upon our Pokémon friends, or face it thrice ourselves."

I opened my mouth to object, but he cut me off.

"And now, Mr. Oak, our dinner is arrived, and decorum requires we cease our talk of politics."

I might have objected, but I suspected the hypocrisy of arguing for the preservation of Pokémon lives while tucking into a roast Tepig would not be lost on him.

Also, it was delicious, and I was hungry. I'm human. Fight me.

But for all that he disliked talking politics over dinner, it was even more clear that he abhorred eating in silence. He spoke, his voice returning to pure civility, the edge that had crept in vanishing. "So, Mr. Oak," he said, offering me a Rowlet dumping, "what did you make of the contest this morning?"

"Jasper?" I asked, accepting it. "I only caught the end."

"When did you come in?"

"Start of the Sandslash fight."

"Ah, then you missed quite a spectacle. The previous duel lasted over ten minutes. It is difficult to fatigue a Golem, but his Golduck managed it artfully. I will have my aide send you a video."

"Mr. Giovanni," I said, readying myself for another bout of controversy. "I've actually been wondering about that fight."

"Yes?"

I took a pull from my wine, this time making sure to breathe it in properly. It smelled like wine. "Your Sandslash - what is it's name?"

"That one? Proioxis. Had her for six years now."

"Right. Proioxis. I'm not quite sure how to ask this…"

I paused. He made no move to reply, staring at me with a passive expression.

"Well. She was screaming. The battle - I know it turned out the other way, but at the time - it looked pretty lost. And you didn't intervene. Were you…without wanting to be rude, were you going to let her die?"

He snorted, his still face breaking out in amusement. " _Die?_ You've been listening to too many stories about me, Mr. Oak. Proioxis was fine."

"But she didn't seem that way."

He shook his head. "Not to you. Not to, ah, _Jasper_. Nor to the Golduck, nor the audience. But she is _my_ Pokémon, Mr. Oak, and this was far from her first fight. I am not in the business of sacrificing good Pokémon needlessly."

"You were shouting commands at her, and she just screamed."

His eyes lowered, and he contemplated me for a moment. "Mr. Oak, I would like you to run through the events that took place in that battle, precisely as they happened and without presumption. In the doing, if you would be so kind, try to pretend that I am a capable Trainer who wishes to keep his Pokémon alive, and _not_ an insane reckless imbecile."

I winced. I sensed that this was the first time I'd truly offended him.

"Well. Your Sandslash - Proioxis - was rushing towards the Golduck. Er, what was its name?"

He shook his head. "I do not know. Continue."

"Right. Well, she was running towards him, dodging his attacks. She climbed up a tree, and she tried to jump at the Golduck, but the branch broke and she accidentally fell."

And just like that, it struck me. "Wait… _was_ that an accident? Was it intentional? A trap, to lure the Golduck closer?"

A small smile. "No, Mr. Oak, that was not planned. The amount of planning and precision necessary to enact _that_ sort of gambit would be unwieldy. The branch would need to be strong enough to hold her weight, but too weakened to take the jump. It would need to be for a very particular type of match-up. The opponent would have needed to be in that exact position, and in any event it would have resulted in my Pokémon on the lower ground, vulnerable to strikes from above. Which, if you will recall, is precisely what happened. So, no. Proioxis made a play, and it failed. Nothing more. She then adapted to the changing circumstances. Now please, continue."

 _Right. Obviously._ "Okay. So she got hit, and fell. She curled up to protect herself against the water blasts, because Sandslashes are better protected from the back than the front. The Golduck kept attacking, but it was really careful about it. Didn't get too close—"

He raised an eyebrow.

"—well, _tried_ not to get too close. Cycled through its attacks, making sure it didn't exhaust itself. And then you shouted an order at her, and she just screamed."

"And there, Mr. Oak, is the crux of your error. You have made a presumption, and had you been in Jasper's shoes, it would have been a fatal one."

I pondered it for a moment, but I couldn't see the assumption he thought I was making. He laid down his fork, focusing his gaze more intently upon me.

"Come, Mr. Oak. It is not that hard. Jasper grasped it in an instant."

I didn't really know, but there was only one leap that I could see I had made.

"That…wasn't a command?"

"Correct. What was it?"

 _Uh._ "A…statement?"

He shook his head. "You are guessing."

"I am," I admitted, seeing no point to pretending otherwise. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

He sighed, resting his knife and leaning back from the table. "It was a _question_ , Mr. Oak. Voiced to sound like a command. I was asking if she was injured."

"Yes," I said, jaw tightening. "And she _screamed_."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning she was _in pain!_ " I answered, unable to stop the statement turning into an accusation. "Meaning she was hurt! She was a ground-type, being hit by blast after blast of water attacks! You asked her if she was okay, and she _screamed_ , and you took that as a go-ahead?"

A flash of irritation crossed his face. "I will _remind_ you, Mr. Oak, that we are presently seated with company nearby, and a certain degree of decorum is expected. I will further remind you that we are pretending I am not a callous fool, playing rough with daddy's Pidgey. The scream was an _answer_ , Mr. Oak. A long-established response, intended to _sound_ defeated, that communicated to me that her wounds were bearable and her lungs unscathed. She was telling me that she was fine to continue the battle."

"And if she hadn't?" I demanded, voice still raised.

"Had she remained silent, I would have withdrawn her immediately and conceded the battle. Do not give me that look, Mr. Oak - I am a Gym Leader, I am _supposed_ to lose. I would have returned her, as I had five other Pokémon in that very engagement - or did you think I am having five graves dug tonight? Now, if you would be so kind as to compose yourself, we can continue this conversation - as _gentlemen_."

I took a breath, arms still rigid with tension. I exhaled slowly, and closed my eyes. "I apologise, Mr. Giovanni. That was…unseemly of me. I regret the outburst."

He inclined his head. "It is forgiven. But you must cease gauging me by the worst of my reputation. Or, at the least, you must try to appraise my actions through the lens of a rational man. A Pokémon of Proioxis' skill and power represents years of training. I would not toss away such an investment on a mere Gym battle. You forget that I spent many years at the forefront of the war - I do not discard valuable resources on such trivia."

"I know, Mr. Giovanni. I did not think."

He took a sip of wine, and picked up his cutlery. After a moment's silence and a few mouthfuls, a small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

"In the month leading up to the Tournament, I might face four eighth-ring challengers in a single day. Many of them will triumph. Even _I_ could not long endure that sort of attrition."

"Of course," I said. "But Pokémon _do_ die in Gym battles, don't they?"

He nodded gravely, finishing a bite of Farfetch'd before answering. "They do. The loss of Jasper's Golduck today was unfortunate. It was a Pokémon of great skill. It merely needed more seasoning."

My eyes shot up from the Tepig to him, shocked. He laughed.

"A poor choice of words. _Conditioning_ , Mr. Oak. Jasper himself, I daresay, is quite ready for the League. I contemplated giving him the badge anyway, despite his loss - I do have that discretion. He saw through my ploy, he grasped the deception and dismissed it. Sadly, he had not drilled his Golduck with proper obedience. No combatant should ever turn away from the enemy without excellent cause, and Jasper's failure to instill that knowledge in his Pokémon cost that Golduck its life."

"Do you think he'll be back?" I asked.

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "He has great skill, and has lost Pokémon before. He will take the lesson to heart, even if he resents it in the teaching. Most Trainers who suffer near losses return - it is only when a Trainer suffers devastating defeat that they cease to pursue the Championship. He will be back, as will the Trainers inconvenienced by today's, ah, _disruption_. I must say, you did me something of a favour in that regard, Mr. Oak."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The girl who was scheduled to fight before you - she has shown considerable promise. I would much rather face her for her eighth badge than her seventh, and I am informed that she has chosen to go directly to Pewter rather than remain."

"Oh, right. Lapis."

He scoffed. "Yes. _Lapis_. Mew, what names you young Trainers have these days."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he waved me down.

"Yes, yes, I know. I mean no disrespect by it, Mr. Oak. In truth, I rather admire the sentiment. President Iwata told me he was quite overjoyed when he heard how his words had been taken to heart. But for an old curmudgeon such as myself, it _does_ at times come across as a tad absurd. Not three weeks ago I engaged a challenger named _Bubblegum_ , of all things. Last year, a sixteen year-old registered as Hickory, which caused me no end of amusement. Not that he had many options - the issue with this naming schema, of course, is that there really are only so many names that can be taken. Although you and your brother seem to have circumvented this issue quite elegantly, Mister _Red_ Oak."

It wasn't anything I hadn't heard before. People of older generations were quite skeptical, even dismissive of the way Trainers had started taking on new names when they decided to enter the circuit. Many still bore grudges from the war, and they saw the outreach as naive and optimistic. When laws were passed allowing underage people to legally change their names, there was outrage. But Iwata's reconciliatory speech at the end of the war had been standard teaching in every school across Kanto and Johto, and it had resonated with a generation growing up amongst the wreckage.

 _Our two nations have enjoyed centuries of bounty, working with one another. We are strong, but our strength has not come from our quarrels and our fighting. Not through our wars, nor the devastation we have wrought. We are strongest when our arms are laid down. We speak loudest when our voices are calm. We see clearest when we look forward, not when watching over our shoulders. We are greater working in unison than we can ever be divided. For it is the orchestra of many instruments that plays the grandest symphony. It is the artist of a broad pallet who paints the most vibrant piece, and it is the orchard of many flowers that fills our lands with the most aromatic scent._

That speech had carried far and wide. The next day, a Kanto general had announced that she would take on the name of Emerald, that she might be one of the many paints Iwata had spoken of. She was followed quickly by Teal, Ebony, and Beryl. Then a minor Johtoan politician had taken Heather, and quickly the wave spread. Within months, whole cities had voted to change their names to Azalea, Mahogany, and Viridian. It was heralded as the start of a new age of unity between the two nations, and young Trainers had raced to join the movement. It was the end of division, the end of petty rivalries and national hatred, the elevation of our peoples as a whole over individual egos.

In an environment such as that, it takes a special kind of self-assuredness to choose the name 'Blue'.

"It was Blue's idea, really. I just tagged along with it."

"I wouldn't make that point too loudly, Mr. Oak," he said, wiping his mouth of the last of the Farfetch'd. "You both garnered great interest when you chose your names jointly. The two of you have a fantastic yin-yang dichotomy, best not to tarnish it."

"Right," I said. "Image."

"Image," he agreed. "But yes. Lapis shows great potential. She's been personally sponsored by Leader Misty, you know."

"Really?"

"Yes. Apparently, took a shine to Lapis' starter. A Lapras. Pity it died, but you know what they say - the sixth badge has the sharpest edge."

"Who was she up against?" I asked, a little thrown by how casually he'd spoken.

"Leader Sabrina. Young Trainers always have trouble dealing with Psychic-types."

"Damn," I said. Didn't know what else to say.

"Damn, indeed," he said, finishing his drink and rising. "And with that, Mr. Oak, our dinner is concluded. I would remain and chat, but I _do_ have business to attend to. I wish you all the best in your travels, and ask that you keep an open mind regarding our politics. Do not worry about the bill, I am quite well-known to the establishment."

"Thank you, Leader Giovanni," I said, rising and extending a hand. "I look forward to challenging you one day."

He accepted the handshake with a smile, clasping his other hand over the top as we shook. "And I look forward to accepting it. Good night, Mr. Oak."

He began to leave, but paused after a few steps, turning back towards me. "Oh, Mr. Oak. I assume you'll be heading to Pewter next?"

"I will."

"Then you'll be passing through Viridian Forest. It's where the Reclamation has been doing most of its work so far - something of a proving ground, as it were. Please, do take the opportunity to take a look around, and see what has been accomplished. A first-hand look might do something to impress upon you the importance of what we have achieved."

"I'll do that. Good evening, Mr. Giovanni."

"Good evening, Mr. Oak," he replied. And with that, he departed, setting off to whatever business demanded the late-night attention of a former Champion.

* * *

 _Feedback is always appreciated - I am a believer that art must be criticized to improve._

 _I can be found on Twitter, under the username 'RadHominin'._

 _Chapter Six of Pok_ _émon: The Line will be released at 7:30pm New Zealand Time (1:30am ET, 6:30am GMT) on Wednesday, December 14th._

 _"Where the Wild Things Were"_


	6. Where the Wild Things Were

The morning sun was bright, the breeze refreshing, and the clearing before us vast. Admiral blew some bubbles from his perch atop my shoulders, and croaked with laughter as they burst upon the ancient lodestone that marked the border of Viridian Forest.

The engraving upon the massive boulder was scribed in Middle Kanton, which I did not speak. The Professor had once told me it said 'Viridian Forest', but in the wake of Kanto's renaming, scholars had put much effort into educating the population of Taiheiyo that it was more accurately translated as 'Moss-Green Forest'. And while they may have been technically correct, people seemed unenchanted with the prospect of being named 'Moss City', so academia's objection to the Viridian interpretation had been cheerfully ignored.

Rather less academic attention had been directed towards the shallow etching beneath it, courtesy of more recent vandals, which read 'West Fucksville'. It had seemed apt a few years ago, when Viridian Forest had been little more than a wing of that forbidding region swarming with aggressive Pokémon, which still rendered impassable the old road between Viridian and Celadon. But on seeing that ancient stone standing before an idyllic clearing and surrounded by rows of saplings, each protected by a wire mesh, it seemed the height of arrogance to have inscribed something so crude and temporal in a monument so venerable.

We strode down the fresh-paved road, traversing the boundary between the forest and the abandoned outer limits of Viridian City. The cleared space beyond was as enormous as it was enchanting. The forest's treeline was about a kilometre away in every direction, and while I had seen larger open spaces before, I had never seen one with so many _people_.

Children ran across the field, chasing and playing with one another. Families sat on blankets without Pokémon to guard them. A young couple were being told off by a Ranger, standing in the shade of one of the few old, gnarled forest trees that had been permitted to remain. As we moved closer, I saw the ancient wood had been chiseled with a heart and initials.

Some part of me felt I should slow my pace, take the opportunity to breathe in this unique vista before we entered the forest proper. Relish the serenity, the peace, the warmth. The chance to enjoy a place, once common, that was now unique in all of West Kanto. But I had Pokémon to catch, and a badge to win, and I just did not have time for all this idyllic paradise crap.

Blue had a week on me.

We made good pace. Admiral was in high spirits, blowing bubbles over the heads of children as we passed and laughing at their excitement. He'd initially been walking beside me - I figured he and Nidoking could do with some time out of their Pokéballs - but his stumpy little legs had been unable to keep up with my impatient strides. Nidoking had the opposite problem - the moment I'd let him out, he'd started sprinting for the nearest patch of undergrowth. He was ensconced back in his ball now, restrained until I had some time to have Admiral sit on him again.

I was not looking forward to training that little fellow.

The clearing narrowed at the far end, trees closing towards the road as we approached the forest proper. They were still a good fifty metres away on either side, distant enough that any wild Pokémon would be spotted by patrolling Rangers before they could reach the road, but the forest's presence became more tangible. Not we had reason to fear an approach - the ground we now stood was where the Reclamation had struck hardest, and the local wildlife had learned, at great cost, the peril of venturing too close.

For an aspiring Trainer with two Pokémon, that was kind of a problem. Nevertheless, we set off on the path.

Quickly the hubbub of activity diminished, then vanished. Once you'd seen the first stretch of road, you'd seen its entirety, and the only purpose of venturing further was to reach Pewter. But there were no other wanderers with me - most chose to travel this road by convoy. Not so much for fears of security as for convenience - a notion I had casually dismissed as for the feeble of spirit.

As we walked, I began to teach Admiral the basics of my private battle code - something I had been developing in my mind for months. It was a terrible disadvantage to have your opponent hear your commands, so all but the most tragically inept Trainers made sure to establish a secret means of communication with their Pokémon. Admiral, being a fully-trained Association starter, was already capable of comprehending simple human speech, so he grasped the fundamentals quickly. With him, it took no more than simply stating a word in Kanton, then repeating it in our secret code. He took lesson well, and within an hour he understood directional instructions and commands such as _attack, retreat, run, stay, move,_ and _stop._

And, most critically, _Rakka - are you okay?_ Swish tail twice for _'yes'_ , once for _'hurt but can continue'_. No response meant either _'no'_ or _'oh shit'._

I decided against a scream for 'yes'. Learning from Giovanni did not mean emulating him.

Before long he was off my shoulders, bounding forward and halting suddenly in response to a syllable that only we understood. But while he was a capable student, he was not an overly enthusiastic one. After I'd asked him to demonstrate _yat-ruhr_ the eighth or ninth time, he ignored me. When I repeated the command he stopped, looked directly at me, and rolled his eyes. Sighing, I jerked my thumb towards my back, and gave the command for 'up'. He cheerfully obliged.

Without our lessons as distraction, however, time began to pass much more slowly. I had hoped to spend this time either finding errant Pokémon, or taking in the sights. But the Pokémon around here were fearful enough to avoid the road, and I quickly learned the sights could be more accurately described as 'sight'.

An hour passed. Eventually, another did. Admiral grew bored. So did I. I returned him to his Pokéball after a while, the ridge of his shell creating a small welt in my shoulder. Route One had an exciting landscape, active Pokémon, and plenty of the small challenges that make a journey interesting. A hill to summit. Potholes to avoid. Wind to brace against, cliffs to stand atop, tall grass to keep an eye on. Here, there was nothing but a long, straight, paved road. Trees too distant to worry about.

At one point, the path inclined upwards for about a kilometre. That was fun.

Every now and then, a truck or a convoy would pass. I cursed myself not for hitching a lift, even as I waved them on with a smile. Call it pride. It had been a beautiful day, and I'd made the decision to walk. The distance hadn't seemed so great when it had been an inch on a map. But once I was on the path, accepting a lift would involve admitting I'd made a mistake, and some part of me didn't want to be seen as a fool.

Third hour. Legs were beginning to ache. The fierce pace I'd begun with had slowed to a regular walk, unable to sustain the pumping enthusiasm I'd started with. I let Admiral out again, just to have someone to suffer with. Every now and then I'd get him to douse my face with water, to wash away my fatigue under the beating sun. When he wasn't blasting my face with rather more pressure than was strictly necessary, he ambled along by my side, as bored as I was. Every now and then, he would sigh theatrically.

We stopped in at a Ranger waystation for a spell. The air conditioning was nice. We sat. We stood. I filled my canteen from the drinking fountain, since Admiral had given me a look of disdain when I'd asked him to fill it himself. Apparently I'd broken some taboo.

I declined an offer to wait until the next convoy. Thanks, but I'm having a great time.

We left. Fourth hour. Fifth.

I let Nidoking out. He ran. I returned him. Let him out again. Ran. Returned. Admiral guffawed. It became a game. The sixth time, he started to duck and weave, so I pulled him back and stopped playing. Didn't want to actually lose him.

My feet were really starting to hurt. Hip felt a little funny. Started lamenting how old I was getting, in that way only 18 year-olds can.

Sixth hour? Something like that.

 _FUCK, A BIRD._

It wasn't a particularly interesting bird, or an unusual one, or even one that I particularly wanted. A Spearow, like I'd seen thousands of before. But it was movement, it was life, and it was on the grass and distracted by a worm or whatever and wasn't one of those flying assholes who wouldn't let me catch them, and I was here for some goddamned Pokémon and here was a goddamned Pokémon and I was going to catch the _shit_ out of that goddamned Pokémon.

I froze, not wanting to alert it. Nearly fell over doing so, as by this point I'd stopped _walking_ in the traditional sense and was now more rhythmically throwing my legs out to catch me as I fell forward. The Spearow, thirty-odd feet away and with its back to me, took no notice of the stumble. I raised a hand to Admiral in a 'halt' gesture, then placed a finger to my lips and pointed to the Spearow. He followed my gaze, perked up, and nodded like a bobblehead, broad toothy grin spreading across his face.

I drew a Pokéball. We advanced, slowly. Twenty-five feet. Twenty. Fifteen.

The Spearow twitched. Turned around. Saw us.

It flew away.

If there were any other birds nearby I hadn't spotted, they were banished by the tirade of profanity that ensued. I hurled the Pokéball wildly, cursing it to hell as it sailed merrily through empty air. Admiral briefly fired a torrent of water at the escaping bird, but stopped to learn some of the more colourful anatomical terms I was spouting that the Association hadn't taught him.

Upon his first amused croak, I stopped. But I wasn't done. I'd had enough of this empty road. I'd had enough of mown grass and Ranger stations and amicable travellers and not getting poisoned. This was _Viridian Forest._ I was going to spend some time _in the fucking forest._

I strode towards the treeline. Admiral _cheered._

He raced ahead of me as I stumbled. I called out his name and he returned, literally bouncing with enthusiasm. Every step was agony, and I didn't care. _MY LEGS ARE MADE OF WOOD AND I AM GOING TO REUNITE THEM WITH THEIR BRETHREN._

It was a manic fury, without thought or cohesion. The road was so uniform and identical that walking had ceased to be progress. It was endless, a treadmill without an 'off' switch. The only change was the gradual progression of the sun across the sky, and the occasional hints of clouds that had threatened, then promised, and ultimately denied rain. I didn't _care_ anymore, I just wanted to _experience something._

The treeline beckoned, and as I approached, it welcomed. Even before we reached the wavy line of tall grass, the forest began to make its presence felt. A root inched over cut grass, chipped green by a lawnmower's blade. I heard sounds made by others, sounds beyond my own tired breath and the plodding monotony of shoe on stone. Chirping, buzzing, creaking, rustling, _living_. A world, not a way.

The first blades of grass brushed my hands. I slowed briefly, to relish the touch of life, but a forest is not grass. The first tree loomed before me, a gnarled titan of dark wood and grand canopy. Massive, thick branches heaved without unison, swaying slowly, starting low and sprawling out wide and far, their aspirations to the sky denied by their immense weight. Roots radiated from the base chaotically, twisting and winding over one another without plan or foresight. I tried to walk along one, but my steps were marred by uncertainty and fatigue. I wrapped myself backwards against the trunk, feet awkwardly splayed at differing heights and angles to find purchase, exhaling hard as rough bark scratched across my open palms and sunburnt neck.

It existed. It was real. _I_ was real.

Admiral indulged me for a moment, but the sight of his Trainer anchored to a tree quickly grew tiresome for him. He jerked his head towards the forest, urging me on.

I raised a placating hand. The minor effort of taking a small step upon a root had sent jolts through my legs, and I knew there was no way I could endure a journey through rough terrain in this shape. Exhilaration would not carry me far. The responsible thing to do would be to sit, rest, and recover before continuing. Fortunately, I had a plentiful supply of Potion and didn't have to bother with that crap.

Pain receded as the spray settled on exposed skin. A thousand PSAs decried me as uncool, but those bejacketed actors shaking their heads at me belonged to another world, and they could not touch me here. The numbness was only slight, the euphoria barely registering - yes, I was using Potion to treat muscle fatigue, but I'd set the nozzle to the lowest setting. I wasn't a _complete_ idiot. Withing a moment the ache had faded from my legs, replaced by a faint tingling sensation. It wouldn't revitalise my tired muscles, but it would make walking that much more bearable.

I nodded to Admiral, and we set off into the forest.

* * *

We stayed parallel to the road, probably. The sun appeared to be about where we left it, on those occasions it peeked through the canopy. And while the uneven terrain defintely slowed us down, the variety made it feel like a journey again.

I had been awed by the first tree I had embraced, but it was a sapling compared to some of these behemoths. Ancient, twisted, and colossal. I felt as an insect, walking amongst gods. The forest floor was thick with bushes, discarded leaves, twigs and fallen branches. Sticks snapped as we stood on them, foliage scraped and scratched along my jacket and trousers as we brushed past. At one point, we came upon a rock - wide, but only knee-height at its tallest. Admiral leapt upon it, and I jumped up after him - only to feel my knees buckle under my own weight. Potion could only treat the pain of my muscles' exhaustion, it could not rejuvenate them. I reminded myself that I was not as strong as I felt - my legs no longer hurt, but the weakness in them was undeniable.

Still, though, Pokémon were scarce. We had remained close to the road, and I dared not venture too deep and risk getting lost. Weedle and Caterpie were common enough, but they fled at our approach. The trees were absent nests and cocoons, the noise of chirping still deeper into the woods. It was peaceful - and that was probably for the best - but I couldn't pretend I was entirely thrilled about it.

 _Oh, go on. A little deeper._

…

…let me just preface this by saying that _I know_ it wasn't a wise decision. Geographical convenience wasn't the only reason Viridian Forest had been selected by the Reclamation - it was well-known as a dangerous place for even skilled Trainers. I was deeply fatigued, with one unblooded starter to protect me. _I know it was stupid so let's just move on, okay?_

I listened to the voices in my head, and dragged my small water turtle into Fucksville.

* * *

The forest grew denser, not in flora, but in fauna. After only about ten minutes of walking perpendicular to the road, Pokémon had gone from scarce to abundant. The tweeting of birds was no longer in the distance, but now above us. In the space of that short journey inwards, we had seen numerous Oddish, a few Bellsprout, a Doduo, and two Sandshrew, as well as copious numbers of Weedle and Caterpie. They all still scattered at our approach, mind. We were still outsiders, and outsiders did not have a good reputation in this place.

We made a left turn in what I was fairly sure was the direction of Pewter, and continued. I started rolling a Pokéball between my hands, excited at the prospect of finally getting an opportunity at capture. I was ready. Admiral was eager. I just needed something _to not run away_.

It didn't take long. After perhaps fifteen minutes, opportunity struck.

The Venonat was sleeping, furry bundle expanding and contracting slowly as it snoozed. Nestled in between two thick roots of a large tree, it looked quite cozy. A signal to Admiral, and we stealthed closer. Its breathing continued uninterrupted, undisturbed by our presence. A more attentive Bellsprout hastily waddled off at our approach.

We were close. Ten feet, maybe. No movement. I threw the ball.

It connected, and the Venonat was pulled in with a wincingly loud noise of static, shattering the peace of the forest. The ball landed, lay still for a moment, and then wobbled slightly.

A second wobble, harder this time.

A third. Urgent now, panicked.

And then a noise - a squeak trying to be a scream, a roar of tiny rage, as the _other_ Venonat jumped from its place behind the tree and raced at me. It took a few steps closer, and jumped at my chest.

Admiral slammed into it in mid-air, throwing it off-course and sending the two of them crashing to the ground. He landed atop the Venonat, raising his webbed little first and landing a punch down into it. A noise of electrical distortion alerted me that the capture had failed. A second punch rained down. I glanced to the first Venonat - it wasn't moving to attack, but had rather buried itself tightly between the tree's roots. Back to Admiral. He grabbed the Venonat's tiny, vestigial hands, held them tight, and headbutted the creature. It thrashed about under him, making a high-pitched gurgle of rage. Admiral opened his mouth and blasted it with a torrent of water - not the thin, deadly jet Jasper's Golduck had used, but rather a broad, blunt attack.

Admiral rolled backwards, still holding the Venonat's hands, pulling it through the air and slamming it into the ground. Upside-down, beaten, restrained, and with arms far too short to provide any sort of leverage, the Venonat could do naught but flail wildly. It kicked helplessly into the sky, struggled vainly against Admiral's grip, spit and screamed and raged. But Admiral did not relent, nor did he move. He was holding the creature in place.

I took the cue. Unclipping a second Pokéball, I threw it at the drenched fluffball of fury. It hit, and the Venonat was ensnared with its electrical confines. This one wobbled furiously, halfway dancing across the earth - but after a few tense moments, the ball clicked.

Without time to celebrate - shouldn't have taken the time to watch the capture at all, really - I spun back to the other Venonat. It was still ensconced between the tree roots, shaking violently. I pulled a third ball, rearing back to throw. It sensed the danger and jumped, vaulting over one of the roots, squeaking in terror. It took two steps, saw Admiral, and froze. It swung around, searching, squeaking desperately. Admiral shot a volley of water - it dodged, the blast just clipping it, and bolted as fast as its tiny legs could carry it.

Not fast enough. I threw the ball as it ran, connecting cleanly. The ball jerked about with violence, rolling and swaying. Moments passed, and the jolting diminished into twitching - and finally, the unmistakable _click_ of a successful capture.

Admiral cheered. I smiled. He picked up the Pokéball of the Venonat he had subdued, walked up, and presented it to me with a grin. I took it, and gave him a playful rub on the head. Together we walked to where the second Pokéball lay. I claimed that too, clipping both of them to my belt and giving a long, satisfied sigh.

Admiral, on the other hand, gave a croaking roar. I spun around.

They have few facial expressions, and their physical construction makes it difficult to gauge their emotions, but I felt quite confident in asserting that this Venomoth was _pissed_.

Without command, Admiral fired a volley of water at it. Before the water even struck, the Venomoth flapped backwards, placing itself on an angle and bringing in a wing to block the shot. The water glanced off, most of it sliding over the wing, what little struck making no notable impact. As the water stopped, the Venomoth rose into the air and swept down towards Admiral, who leapt to meet it.

As the two met, it became clear that the Venomoth was heavier than it looked. Admiral's tackle barely slowed it as it drove him into the ground, hard. It pulled back up, but Admiral's struggling attempt to rise was slow, and the Venomoth slapped him with its wings. The strikes weren't terribly hard, but each blow was accompanied by a burst of spores. Admiral opened his mouth, but what emerged was little more than might come from a garden hose. Harmless. He pulled back a fist to strike, but his movements were clumsy, shaky, and the blow fell short of his opponent.

The Venomoth pulled its wings inwards, falling, spinning at furious speed. After a few rapid rotations, it extended one, slamming into Admiral at high speed and flinging him into the air. He crashed into the tree with a sickening _crack_ , barely managing to pull himself into his shell before connecting. He hit the ground, and though he managed to extract himself from his shell, he could not bring himself to rise.

The Venomoth turned to me, rising again with a few flaps.

 _Run._

I dashed, ducking under the Venomoth as it ascended. I reached down to grap Admiral, legs stumbling as I slowed. I took him with both hands, wrapping him tight against my chest and sprinting as hard as I could. He ducked back into his shell. Even as I tucked him against me, I could feel the powder numbing my hands - I tried to adjust as I ran, touching his shell only with my covered arms, fingers rapidly growing clumsy and unresponsive.

My legs were weak, and the terrain was uneven. I ran as hard as I could, but every step was half a stumble. I crashed through a wall of brittle branches and twigs, the corpse of a long-dead bush. The paralysis was travelling into my forearms, my neck and chin growing numb where Admiral's shell was shedding powder. My mouth began to hang open, lower lip not responding to my commands to close.

 _Rock. Bound over it. Roots. Jump over. Fuck, nearly tripped. Keep running. Branch. Duck._

A gust of wind struck me from behind, hard. Venomoth. It propelled me forward, very nearly falling over. My legs scrambled to find themselves under me, buckling, almost collapsing. I kicked up a pile of dead leaves as I pushed forward, slipping, stumbling.

 _Tree. Dodge._

I careened to the right, arcing around the tree. A shelf of dirt rose abruptly from the earth. Jumped up, the toes of my trailing foot catching it. Kept going. Admiral slipped down, my arms almost asleep. He was now pressed mostly by my biceps, forearms barely controllable. My tongue was lolling, any tastes it might be collecting undetectable. Tears were beginning to stream from my eyes - not of emotion, but because nothing was restraining them any more. Vision blurred. Couldn't wipe them away.

I have no idea how long I ran. It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes. Stumbling, crying, constantly adjusting my arms with what little control I retained to keep Admiral from slipping out.

 _Tree. Dodge. Rock? Dodge. Elevation? Jump. Fuck, no elevation. Landed weird. Legs in wrong place. Down to knees. Admiral slipping. Get him. Stand. Run. Run. RUN._

 _Tree. Dodge. Ground slippery here. Why? Adjust. Rock. Dodge. Elevation TRIPPING. Catch. Running. Tree. Dodg-TREE_

I'd jumped to the side to avoid a tree, but the dodge had sent me careening, desperately trying to keep my legs beneath me. Too much momentum, I couldn't stop.

I tried to adjust, to swing around the next tree, but I was too slow, my legs too clumsy. My right shoulder slammed into it as I tried to pass, my arms lost their grip, and Admiral was flung out. The blow twisted me about, my feet lost their purchase, and what strength my legs possessed wasn't enough. I fell, the left of my waist crashing into a thick root, and pain shot through my side.

My legs kicked about as I tried to rise, blinking with what little muscle control my face still had to try and dislodge the tears. My arms flailed from the shoulders, trying to push me up but too weakened and unresponsive to take any weight. I struggled on the ground, panicking. I managed to take a knee, wobbling, and with tremendous effort pushed myself upright with my legs. Blinking, I swung my head around, trying to see where Admiral had landed.

 _Nothing nothing fucking leaves and roots and dirt where is he WHERE IS HE?_

There, ahead. I lurched over to him, his shell gleaming through my weeping eyes with shimmering powder, half-buried in a clump of leaves. I floundered over to him, falling again. I landed next to him, face down, leaves crunching beneath me. I heard a croak by my waist. Groaning, I flung my hand to my belt, the back of my palm slapping uselessly against it. My fingers barely responded to my commands. Rolling, adjusting, I managed to prop my forearm against Admiral's ball and shove it off the belt.

If Venomoth was here, there was nothing I could do about it now.

I raised my knee towards me, catching a pile of leaves and a hard sphere, pushing them closer to my core. I heaved my right arm towards the ball, slapping my thigh and then falling to rest on the ball. I rolled my shoulder, trying to make the useless hand scoop the Pokéball to me. I could see Admiral, head slunk from his shell, breathing, eyes open, but not moving.

With clumsy, swinging movements, I managed to get my hand resting atop the Pokéball. Pulling with my torso, I rolled it further up until it was pointing at Admiral.

Tongue too useless to form the voice command, I tried to press down on the pressure sensor atop the ball - but there wasn't enough control, not enough strength to exert the pressure needed to activate the mechanism. I dragged the Pokéball closer to my face with my upper arm, barely feeling as it connected with my cheek, digging my feet into the earth and pushing at an angle, rotating myself to face Admiral. I heaved my head up and rested it on the ball, clumsily using the underside of my chin to rotate it.

I pressed my chin down, and the red beam struck out, connecting with Admiral and pulling him in.

I collapsed, Pokéball resting against my cheek. My arms couldn't push me back up, and at any rate there was nothing left to do. If Venomoth found me, that was that.

I'd done everything I could.

* * *

Venomoth never came. Knowing what I do now, it's unlikely I managed to actually outrun it. It probably only sought to chase us off, and then returned to search for its young. Being wild, it would not have comprehended that its Venonats were now ensnared within a pair of Pokéballs. That lack of understanding is likely the only reason we survived.

I lay there for a while. The tears ceased to be pure physiology, and turned to those of self-loathing and despair. I had come so close to death, so close to killing Admiral, so close to being exterminated in some distant tract of forest, so close to leaving the Professor and Daisy and Blue worried, then scared, then crushed. The Professor would never have forgiven himself. Neither would Blue.

All because I was _bored._

The paralysis extended, then receded, rendering my arms and shoulders completely immobile for a spell before returning some crude function to them. After a period of time I cannot guess at - probably something short of an hour - I was able to prop myself up on my arms. Shortly thereafter, I regained enough function to clip Admiral's Pokéball back onto my belt, and unclip the medkit ball.

I opened it, pulling out a Paralyse Heal. With some difficulty, I flipped the cap and sprayed it onto my hands, then arms, then my face. Pins and needles surged through the affected places, paining me for a minute. But control returned, pain faded, and within a couple of minutes my arms were functioning fine again. I tested myself gently, poking and prodding to make certain that nothing had broken. Then, releasing Admiral, I sprayed him with the same.

We sat for a few minutes, silent. It was beginning to grow dark, and while we had repaired the worst of the damage we'd suffered, we were far too exhausted to continue the journey. It wasn't just physical fatigue, either. Psychologically, emotionally, we were just drained. Even Admiral wasn't larking about. He just sat, lost in whatever thoughts run through a Pokémon's mind.

I broke the silence, looking at him and saying "Hey" gently. Slowly, he looked up at me, and gave a little smile. I returned it, and he laughed softly, lowering his head and raising a fist in the air.

We couldn't make the rest of the journey to Pewter that day, but nor could we linger here. The sun was getting low, but I could still tell what direction it was in. With a groan, I heaved myself up and offered to return Admiral to his ball. He shook his head. Brave little guy.

We needed shelter - simply pitching a tent in the middle of Viridian Forest seemed like a sure way to a quick end. I wanted to head straight back to the road, but I wasn't sure what path we'd taken to flee the Venomoth, and I sure as hell didn't feel like running into it on the way back. Given that the local Pokémon didn't seem to be aggressive unless provoked, I opted to continue heading north for a while and take a wide arc around the path we'd taken.

The forest still bustled with Pokémon, but they were still as frightened of us as before. Whatever the Bloom had done to heighten their aggressive instincts, it had faltered in the face of the Reclamation. We were left unmolested as we walked, though we both kept a watchful eye on any Pokémon that failed to flee on sight. While I might _academically_ have regarded their fear as a terrible consequence of a brutal atrocity, at this particular moment I was rather thankful for it.

The sun's light began to vanish, and a sense of urgency gripped me. I dared not use any artificial light - Venomoths were attracted to it, and they were the last damn thing I needed right now. How far had we walked? What was a Venomoth's territorial range? What about a furious one seeking its young? Could they track by scent? I didn't know, and we were far beyond any hope of getting a signal to my Pokédex.

The terrain was growing rockier, more uneven and sparsely vegetated. The ground grew harder, trees grew scarcer, and Pokémon grew less numerous - eventually vanishing altogether. It wasn't surprising. We were not more than a couple of hours from Pewter, and they had been enthusiastic participants in the Reclamation. Few Pokémon would now regard this area as a safe place to be, at least until nightfall. The Reclamation only did their work in the light of day - once night had truly set, it would be a different game altogether.

Grass gave way to gravel, and between the rising incline and the vanishing of the last rays of daylight, our progress slowed. But before energy deserted us entirely, our way was halted by the emergence of a great, rocky hill. Its sides were far too steep to ascend, forming something of a miniature cliff. Accepting that this was as far as we could get, and that the Venomoth likely would not be able to track us this distance, we finally turned left towards the road.

But exhaustion was now bearing down on me, ruthless. The painkilling effects of the Potion were beginning to fade, and the dull ache in my legs grew sharper with every passing moment. Lifting each foot was an effort, every rock shelf and elevation, an ordeal. I was starting to nod off - the reprieve I'd had lying in the leaves had sapped the energy for further travel.

When we saw the cave mouth, Admiral and I were both too tired to pass it up.

We entered it together, my flashlight turned on low. It was a large opening, wide enough to spin a Meowth. We moved cautiously, careful not to make too much noise. Ten feet in, we stopped while I scanned the cavern with my light, searching for Zubats. It was an expansive tunnel, clearly a natural formation - the ground was far too rocky and hard for it to be the work of Digletts. It seemed a fine enough place to spend the night. I returned to the cave's mouth, retrieving a Repel from one of my Pokéballs and spraying it thick around the entrance. Admiral's nose wrinkled. I could detect nothing but a vague chemical scent.

Content that we would remain undisturbed from the outside, we turned back inwards. Venturing a little further, it became clear that this cave went some distance into the hill. Uninterested in going on a spelunking expedition, I layered a bottle of Repel around a section of tunnel and went about setting us up for the evening. Bedroll, portable gas stove, a small lantern and some extra blankets. Everything I'd need for a…well, an _adequate_ night.

I contemplated letting Nidoking out - _definitely_ not the Venonats, not while there was any chance of their mother catching their scent - thinking that sharing a meal with him might begin to make him a bit more comfortable with me. Given the amount of Repel I'd used, I doubted he could bring himself to flee. But while it might have been a reasonable notion, the truth is I was just too bone-tired to deal with him right now.

It was only once I'd fired up the stove and started rummaging through my supplies for something to cook, that I heard the tapping.

 _tap_

It was faint, and distant. I looked up, trying to identify a source. None were obvious. I listened closely, but heard nothing further. Turning off the stove, I stood, slowly.

 _tap_

Again. I motioned to Admiral, beckoning him to get up. He did - sleep had not yet claimed him, but he was already groggy. I placed a hand to my ear, cupping it. He grasped the gesture, frowning and looking around.

 _tap_

Barely audible, but definitely there. Coming from deeper into the cave. Once about every six seconds.

I wasn't sure what to do. We were in about as secure a place as we could hope to be, and I didn't want to find another place to camp. We were completely drained, and the prospect of packing everything up seemed monumental in itself. But the prospect of staying here…

 _tap_

 _Venture into the depths of a cave, exhausted, to confront an unknown force? You JUST learned this lesson, Red. Don't be a fucking idiot._

 _tap_

 _Go to sleep in an unsecured location, with that same unknown force lurking below? Rely on a bottle of Pokémon repellent and a sleeping Squirtle for protection? Don't leave your flank unguarded, don't place yourself at the mercy of dangers you cannot protect yourself against. You can't sleep here. Don't be a fucking idiot._

 _tap_

 _Go wandering through Viridian Forest, at night, without energy or protection? In the dark? You can't use a light, you'll pull every Venomoth in the region. It's dark, it's dangerous, you'll tire yourself out even more - and for what? In search of a hypothetical shelter that may or may not exist? One which may well house something DEFINITELY threatening? You don't know that you're in danger here. What malicious Pokémon makes that sort of tapping noise? Go staggering through Viridian at night? Don't be a fucking idiot._

 _tap_

I sighed. When there isn't a right decision, you make the less wrong one.

But I wouldn't do this blindly. If we were going to do this, we were going to do it carefully, and cautiously, and with what defences we could muster.

 _tap_

I opened a Pokéball, and pulled out several bottles of Repel, clipping them to my belt. _Spray at regular intervals as we progress. If it IS some dangerous, aggressive Pokémon, this will at least slow them down long enough for us to get out. Probably._ I contemplated giving myself another dose of Potion, but figured it'd probably be best for my legs to be painful and functional, not anaesthetised.

 _tap_

 _Keep Admiral's Pokéball handy. Even in your current state, you can run much faster than him. He'll slow you down, especially if he has to force himself through layers of Repel to get back. If there's a threat he can't handle, put him in the ball and leg it._

 _tap_

 _Pack everything you can't afford to lose. Do it now, there won't be time if we have to flee._

I did so.

 _tap_

 _Go outside for a moment. Orient yourself. If we run from the cave, we'll be turning right. Check for boulders, ridges, anything that might trip you up. Plan a path that avoids them._

I did. There was a copse of bushes some twenty metres away, taller than me and dense enough for concealment. A route led to them, one was free of large rocks or elevation changes. _If we have to run, run there. Get out of sight as quickly as possible. If it's a Pokémon that relies on vision or hearing, hide in them. If it uses scent, keep running._

I returned to the cave, and relayed my intentions to Admiral. Running through my mental checklist one last time, I motioned to him, and we started moving. When we reached the interior ring of Repel, he stopped short, covering his nose and waving his hand. It was some small reassurance that the stuff at least worked. I returned him to his ball, passed the threshold of Repel, and released him again.

We advanced slowly, stopping every twenty feet or so to spray another circle of Repel. We walked side by side, for the cave remained wide enough to allow it. It inclined downwards, not at a sharp angle, but sufficient to evoke a feeling of descent. One hand clutching a Repel, the other Admiral's Pokéball - Admiral himself carrying the flashlight, cradling it in the nook of one elbow while steadying it with the other hand - we ventured deeper into the cave.

The taps grew more distinct, but still faint. Regular, unerring, and rhythmic. I racked my mind, trying to think what Pokémon would create such a measured, stone-on-stone noise. Nothing came to mind. I took a deep breath, sprayed another layer of Repel, and carried on.

After about six circles of Repel, a smell began to manifest itself. Something foul, like a bag of trash left in the heat for too long. It grew stronger, quickly. Putrid and sweet.

 _tap_

The taps were clear, now. They couldn't have been much further - but they still weren't _loud._ The cave must have been carrying the noise very well.

 _tap_

The stench grew potent. Another circle of Repel - a thick layer, this one.

 _tap_

We inched forward, a turn in the passage coming up ahead. We were close.

 _tap_

Wasn't going to be a sharp turn. More of a bend. We stopped before we reached it, taking a moment to brace ourselves against the rank odour.

 _tap_

We moved.

Down the passageway, not far, lay something. Presumably the source of the stench. A body, looked like.

 _tap_

One last layer of Repel. I set the bottle down with care and unclipped a fresh one from my belt, brandishing it before me.

 _tap_

The figure was large, too large for a human. Bulky and heavy, but humanoid. I gripped Admiral's Pokéball, pointing it at him. _No sudden movements, but be ready to run._

 _tap_

A Kangaskhan. Definitely not alive. Something horrific had happened to its head. Bile rose in my throat at the smell, and I barely suppressed a gag. My head was pounding, the sensory overload combining with raw fear.

 _tap_

The top half of its skull was simply gone, the flesh of its cheek torn with no hint as to where the rest lay. Its chest, too, was covered in dried blood.

 _Dried. This isn't fresh._

 _tap_

I looked closer, willing myself to endure the stench. Small holes, several of them, through its torso. I spent a few seconds trying to list what Pokémon might kill in such a fashion, before the obvious answer made itself known.

 _tap_

Bullet holes. _Reclamation._

 _tap_

I still couldn't see where the tapping was coming from. I glanced at Admiral. His eyes were wide, his lip bitten.

 _tap_

Behind us.

I spun around, swinging the Repel over to spray whatever was here. But nothing lunged. Nothing attacked.

There, a small figure, in the corner of the room. Maybe ten feet away. No larger than Admiral, perhaps even a bit smaller, sitting by the wall.

 _tap_

I motioned to Admiral, to turn the light towards it. The beam found its mark, and the tapping's source was illuminated.

 _tap_

Cubone.

It was huddled over, sitting with its arms wrapped tightly around its knees, clutching at some length of bone it held. The skull, still caked in dried blood, enclosed its head as it stared at its fallen mother. We took a step closer. It took no notice of us.

 _tap_

The skull. It was hitting its head against the wall, bone striking stone. It brought its head back to one side, slowly, then drove it back against the wall. Metronomic. Lost.

 _tap_

How long had it been here? How long had it been doing this? I looked at Admiral. He could only stare.

 _tap_

Questions abounded, but at this moment they all led to the same path. Left alone, it would starve. There was only one thing to do.

 _tap_

The room fell silent as Cubone was taken into the Pokéball. There was no wobble, no resistance. Just a cold, empty click.

I didn't bother to have Admiral weaken it. There was no point.

There is no sense in beating the broken.

* * *

 _Feedback is always appreciated - I am a believer that art must be criticized to improve._

 _I can be found on Twitter, under the username 'RadHominin'._

 _The final chapter of Arc I will be posted at 2:00pm on Thursday, December 22nd New Zealand Time (1am GMT, 5pm Wednesday USA Eastern Time, 8pm Pacific Time)_

 _"Boulder"_


	7. Boulder

There comes a time in every child's life when simple acceptance of facts ceases to be enough. When that they had taken for granted becomes curious, then bizarre, then vexing. Children are born innocent and trusting, but children age, and what is taken for granted in youth must be challenged in maturity. Statements which had once carried the weight of truth by mere virtue of being spoken by an authority must be challenged, questioned, and tested.

And so, the day comes for every child when they must turn to those they most look up to, and demand the question which inevitably plagues every inquisitive young mind:

 _Why the hell are Rock-types vulnerable to water?_

It is easy, and tempting, for an adult who senses the impending loss of their unquestioned hegemony over a young mind, to respond with sombre words and sage gazes. _The rock stands mighty, my child. Grand and proud, unchallenged. All gaze upon the mountain in wonder, for it is boastful and proud. But water - water is something greater than grand. It is relentless. It does not quit, it does not surrender. It fights, day after day, year after year. And as time passes, that which once seemed immutable is muted. That which once towered over all is worn down to sand, for even the grandest mountain can be weathered to naught by the tireless efforts of a humble stream. And through persistence, and dedication, and unflinching determination, it is the water that endures._

When confronted with this, there are three responses a child might venture.

The first child will say "okay," and go on to a career in middle management.

The second child will nod, thank the elder for their words of wisdom, then get high and write poetry about how queen Beedrill are the _real_ slaves.

But the third child will frown, and point out that the natural phenomenon of erosion is not a satisfactory answer in the context of Pokémon battles. The adult will implore them to consider the deeper meaning of their words. The child will counter that the Geodude wasn't held under a Water Gun for eight hundred years before tapping out. The adult will shake their head and tell the child that they'll understand when they're older. The child then goes on the Internet and discovers peer-reviewed studies on natural selection, as well as a powerful and deeply confusing fascination with Miltank lactation videos.

There is also a fourth child, who does not have this conversation at all. For they ask this question of their father, who is a world-renowned Pokémon Professor, and he explains that the term 'Rock-type' is a misnomer stemming from a shared etymological origin in Old Kanton. He teaches the child that so-called 'Rock-types' are actually defined by a rigid exoskeleton which possesses a superficial resemblance to common forms of stone. He elaborates that the ancestors of these modern 'Rock-types' evolved primarily in certain underground locations with limited access to liquid water, and that these bygone creatures developed the ability to absorb ambient moisture from the local atmosphere to provide themselves with adequate hydration, allowing them to exist in a very specific ecological niche. However, this adaptation causes them to fare poorly in the face of liquid water, which their exoskeletons attempt to absorb. This results in cells expanding until they physically burst, causing tremendous pain, disablement, and the temporary exposure of their delicate organ systems.

The child nods, appreciative of the knowledge but unable to grasp how lucky he was that he didn't get saddled with some berk talking about the universe's intrinsic need for balance.

* * *

These were the thoughts I occupied my mind with while I sat in Pewter City's Pokémon Center, waiting for their assessment of Cubone. Admiral had also been taken in to be checked for any lingering effects from the paralysis, and the Venonats for a general examination, but I wasn't particularly concerned about them.

Despite my exhaustion, sleep had made only passing acquaintance last night. The presence of death down the tunnel had unsettled me, worries about Cubone's state had plagued my mind, and every time my eyes had begun to close, I was jolted back to wakefulness by the distant echo of a phantom _tap._ I had drifted off eventually, but morning came far too quickly, and the fatigue had settled deep into my bones.

No longer preoccupied with thoughts of vanity, I hitched a lift on the first convoy to pass. The passengers had eyed me with sympathy, their only ventures at conversation being _are you okay_ and offers of food and water. I dozed off on the ride, but the rest of the trip couldn't have taken more than an hour. First stop was the Pokémon Center.

I should have been preparing for my battle with Brock, running through potential strategies and contingencies, anticipating what commands I'd need Admiral to know and what instructions I should give him beforehand. But I was drained. There was nothing left in me.

The verdict came, and it was the best I could have expected. Minor malnourishment, fixable with a few days of proper feeding - if I could get him to eat. No physical trauma - the Kangaskhan had protected her child to the last - but the psychological damage was severe. Cubone was only a few months old, and the bond between a Kangaskhan and her child was the strongest in all of nature. No other Pokémon had an entire evolutionary branch induced purely by grief.

He had made no response throughout the examination. No acknowledgment of the nurses, no reaction to their words of reassurance, no reply to the Chansey that had tried to communicate with him, nothing but a reflexive flinch when they drew some blood.

The Venonats - a pair of sisters - were fine, if quite wild. When they had been released into the perspex box - standard procedure for any fresh capture, until their aggressiveness could be determined - one had bared her teeth and spit acid at the nurses, while the other cowered behind her. Admiral, meanwhile, had amused the staff with a little tap-dance routine. One of them had recorded it and, with my permission, uploaded it to the PokéCenter social media page.

Once they were released back into my care, I headed straight for the nearest hotel. It was barely past noon, but I knew I wasn't getting anything done today.

* * *

I did manage to force myself to pull out Admiral for a short while, to teach him a few more key codewords. Just stuff I expected we'd need for tomorrow - things like _rock, water, enemy, win, lose. Yes_ and _no_. I would definitely need to expand his vocabulary, and soon, but it was all I could manage to make sure he'd have what he needed to handle the Pewter Gym.

Leader Brock had acquired a reputation as a first-ring adversary who could be relied upon to be tough, but fair. He typically deployed a Geodude against first-time challengers, providing sufficient challenge without brutalizing them. Occasionally he fielded an Onix, but did not require Trainers to actually defeat it so much as demonstrate their capability at handling oversize threats. And while Onix would certainly represent a tough opponent, I'd seen videos of Trainers with far weaker starters find triumph against him.

It may sound cocky, but the truth is that I wasn't really worried about Brock. First-ring battles were tests of command and control, an opportunity for a qualified Gym Leader to assess the challenger's ability to handle minor contests before progressing to greater challenges. A Geodude - honestly, even an Onix - would struggle to mount a serious fight against Admiral. He was well-trained, he obeyed commands, and the type advantage would be overwhelming. As Leader of the Rock Gym, Brock would be obligated to field only Kanton Rock-types, and Kanto had few that the League would recognise as suitable for a first-ring challenger.

In short, the problem space was small, far worse Trainers than me had gone through unscathed, and I was confident Admiral could handily deal with any opponent he could legally be faced with. I was exhausted, and I figured I'd be better off getting a full night's sleep so I could stay sharp and react to unexpected developments, rather than spending hours preparing for obscure, niche scenarios that were highly unlikely to materialize.

So I went to bed, checking my Pokédex only for direct messages and high-priority news alerts. With none present, I slammed my face into the pillow.

* * *

The Gym floor was stone, coated in a thick layer of gravel. Ridges, boulders, and sloping elevation changes abounded, the entire surface a chaotic jumble of rock. At the base of a long, sloping stone lay a fissure, likely struck into the foundations by some spectacular display of power. There were no plants, no life, no hint of anything but stern, unyielding resilience.

I mounted the dais, controlling my breathing as I approached the railing. There should have been more fanfare, more ritual. _This is it. My first Gym battle._ I should have been a gladiator, stepping upon the sands to the roar of the crowd.

But I was just a boy with a stained jacket and a cap, in an empty room of stone.

Nearly empty.

Across the room, on the opposite podium, stood Brock. Arms crossed, face still, wearing a khaki t-shirt with an open, grey padded vest. He made no noise and gave no reaction as I reached the railing. A moment passed as he surveyed me, considering, watching. Total silence.

When he spoke, it was without inflection or emotion. Simple, deep, and clear. Even his speech was unadorned.

"Red Oak, of Pallet. You wish to challenge me?"

I steeled myself, projecting my words as best I could without, trying to keep my voice low and masculine.

"I do."

"This is your first contest. Do you affirm that you understand all relevant League regulations, and are aware of the consequences of misconduct?"

"I affirm it."

"Have you selected your Pokémon?"

"I have."

He unclipped a Pokéball from his belt, not breaking eye contact, and pointed it towards the ground before him.

"You may deploy when ready."

Admiral's Pokéball was already in my hand. I raised it as Brock had, and whispered the words I had fantasized a thousand times. I was here. It was time.

"Admiral. I choose you."

I pressed the button, and a flash of blue light struck out from the Pokéball as Admiral formed upon the ground. As I did so, Brock did the same, his own streak of energy coalescing in the form of…

 _Kabuto._

I had read about them. The Professor had a beautiful fossilized one mounted in a glass case at home, but live specimens were *incredibly* rare. I'd never seen one in person before.

It wasn't surprising that Brock had one. His Kabutops was a legendary warrior, and had been a key player in his challenge of the Elite Four. But I had never heard of a Kabuto being presented against a first-ring challenger, and while it probably fell within the challenge rating mandate of the League, it was certainly on the borderline. I was not prepared for this.

And it was _huge._ Difficult to gauge the exact size over that distance, but it wouldn't have been much smaller than a metre long. This was not a fresh hatch. This was a grown, trained Pokémon, and Admiral could not rely on simple water attacks to overcome it.

I gave no command. Instead my mind raced, running through everything I'd read about Kabuto to try and construct a viable strategy. _Aquatic Pokémon. Nearly immune to water attacks. Hard outer shell, direct physical attacks ineffective. Underside is fleshy and vulnerable - potential weak point, but has deadly-sharp claws. Four eyes. Two on top have poor vision, mostly just detects light for avoiding predation. Lower eyes under the shell have much greater acuity. It'll have to expose them to see properly - narrow jets of high-pressure water, directed to the eyes. That could work._

Five seconds passed. Ten. I had no idea how many people were watching, but I could feel the pressure of their anticipation.

 _I'm not doing anything. I'm supposed to do something. I'm just standing here, I have to give a command, I have to look decisive and—_

The pressure was building. I took in a short breath, trying to suppress the urge to act rashly.

 _Stop. Don't worry about them. Focus. Think. Weak points, what does it have?_

More seconds. More phantom stares. Brock made no move.

 _Kabuto are built for water. They don't have tails, if they're flipped upside-down they can't get back up. Get it on its back and you win. But how can Admiral possibly flip that thing? It must weigh five times what he does, he'd need some insane sort of leverage to—_

"Trainer Red," said Brock, shattering the silence. "You have not given order to attack. Is there a problem?"

"No, Leader," I replied. "I'm just…"

I trailed off. I didn't know what to say.

"Do you object to my selection?"

"No, Leader."

"Then proceed."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I needed to give an order, but I had no idea what. Admiral turned to look at me, tilting his head. Either he needed advice, or he just didn't see the problem.

 _I need to give him a command. I need to tell him what to do, but what? If he runs in firing water blasts and trying his usual showboating wrestling malarky, he's going to get annihilated. He doesn't have the mass or finesse to toss that thing over._

 _Leverage. He needs leverage. If he can get the Kabuto to—_

 _"Trainer Red,"_ said Brock, his voice firmer, reverberating through the speakers dotted around the Gym. "You are the challenger. The onus is upon _you_ to achieve victory. You must deliver a command."

"I apologise, Leader. I am considering."

He gave the barest incline of his head. "You have that right."

With that tacit permission to stop and think, the pressure lessened. The desperation to look quick and clever diminished, and my thoughts became that little bit clearer. It wouldn't look nearly so bad to be hesitant with a Gym Leader's endorsement.

 _Leverage. Use the environment. Push the Kabuto over a ledge. Get it jammed in that fissure, down next to that sloping boulder. Kabuto's entire structure is rigid, it has nearly no mobility. Get it wedged in somewhere, doesn't even need to be completely flipped. Get its claws off the ground, and that should be enough._

 _Now, how the hell do I communicate that to Admiral?_

I ran through what limited vocabulary Admiral had learned, trying to formulate the instructions without having to resort to plain Kanton. Working out what would hopefully be enough to convey my intent, I began relaying my plan in our code. I spoke slowly, taking care to enunciate clearly and ensure he had time to process each individual part, joining phrases to try and connect concepts.

 _"Admiral. Attack, water. Front, not rock. Attack front water, not-rock. Move forward, move back. Move. Move. Move. Enemy up-down. Enemy up-down, win. No physical attack. Enemy rock. Physical attack, enemy win. Move enemy down low-rock fast, enemy up-down."_

He stared at me, frowning in concentration, trying to process everything I was saying. Once I'd gone through it once, I repeated it. _Take your time, make it clear. He needs to be on the same page as you._ I finished the second repetition and waited, silently willing him to understand. Was this too complex for our simple tongue? Could he grasp that awkward jumbling of words?

He turned around, fully presenting his back to his opponent to face me with a questioning look. Then, slowly, he raised his hands to his waist and, with small, subtle movements, taking care to obscure Brock's view, placed one hand over the other. With a flipping motion, he inverted them.

I broke out into a grin. _He got it._

I nodded, and he returned the nod with a shark's smile, baring his teeth.

 _"Admiral. Go."_

He charged, breaking into a sprint towards his opponent. Gravel crunched beneath his feet, kicking pieces up as he ran. He bounded over the fissure that stood between them, closing the distance. The floor as a whole was covered with large rocks, but the path between the two was relatively clear.

Kabuto held its ground as Admiral approached, until the gap was down to about fifteen metres. Brock delivered a short series of instructions in his own language, and Kabuto began its own approach. Its claws unsuited to bare rock, it moved slowly, shifting gravel as it progressed.

Admiral stopped roughly five metres from Kabuto, opening his mouth to dispense a stream of pressurized water. It struck one of Kabuto's lower eyes, causing it to flinch and lower its shell, presenting Admiral with only exoskeleton and continuing its slow advance.

 _"Retreat, down-rock,"_ I called out.

Admiral took a single step back, firing off another shot of water. This one skidded harmlessly off Kabuto's shell. It was followed by another, this one lower, trying to take one of Kabuto's claws from under it. Gravel went flying and Kabuto wobbled a bit, but held itself up and continued advancing.

Ten metres to the fissure. It would take a minute at this slow pace, but this was the Rock Gym. Patience was a virtue here.

Admiral fired a few more experimental shots. At first, it seemed pointless - strikes landing on the shell were entirely disregarded, blasts to the claws and underside caused no more than momentary instability - it was creeping, keeping itself low to the ground, it wouldn't be undone by them. But then a shot struck one of the recessed upper eyes, and Kabuto flinched. It wasn't much - the eyes were small, difficult to hit, and the strike seemed to cause no more than a flash of minor pain - but it was something.

With Admiral next to the fissure, Brock called out a command. Kabuto stopped.

Well, it's not like the plan wasn't obvious. I could hardly expect Kabuto to just wander up to the precipice and wait.

A second series of commands from Brock, longer and more intricate this time. I would have seized on the moment to take action, but I had no idea what would be effective. I wanted to interrupt, to make Admiral initiate some sort of attack before Brock's plan could be conveyed, but the only thing I could think of - beyond taking more potshots at the eyes - was to charge the giant rock with the fearsome claws, and that did not seem a wise notion.

The instructions conveyed, Kabuto waited until another Water Gun had slid off its shell, reared up, and fired a stream of high-velocity bubbles at Admiral. He dodged to the side, catching only a few and not so much as wincing as they connected. He returned fire, but Kabuto hunkered down as he did so, presenting nothing but shell.

 _Think. What's Brock's plan? Those orders were too long and detailed to just be 'fire bubbles', and they'll never cause real harm to Admiral. Brock knows this. He's planning something. But what?_

Nothing came to mind, beyond forcing Admiral to maneouvre. But that didn't seem enough, and it would take a more powerful water attack to achieve even that much. Admiral could tank bubbles indefinitely. And yet, Kabuto made no follow-up play. When the bubbles ceased, it hunkered back down in anticipation of Admiral's return fire, which duly came.

These exchanges continued for perhaps a minute, five or six volleys each way. In the context of a Gym battle it felt like forever. Kabuto had no hesitation in cutting its attacks short when Admiral opened his mouth, so he was unable to land any meaningful hits. Another blow struck the upper eye, but any damage it inflicted was negligible. _What IS his plan?_

 _Brock's all about patience. Is he planning to just wear Admiral down? Bubbles take far less water to produce than full jets of water, and Admiral's water glands can't replenish indefinitely. Plus, Kabuto has far greater mass than Admiral, and presumably greater storage capacity. If he can keep this going long enough, Admiral will run out well before Kabuto does. And even if that isn't his plan, whatever's happening now is what Brock_ wants _to happen._

 _Is he expecting me to reach that conclusion? Kabuto isn't going to move any closer to the ledge without prodding, I can't take it out with just water attacks - is he hoping I'll take my chances with a closer engagement?_

 _Do I have a choice?_

I gave the command to Admiral to stop firing. He was just going to drain himself - whatever minor pain he was inflicting with the eye strikes, it wouldn't be enough. Admiral's mouth closed, and he stuck to just dodging bubbles. _That'll wear him down, too. It won't take him out, but he'll get tired if he has to keep evading for too long._

I gritted my teeth. _Think. THINK!_

More moments passed. _This is a Gym battle. First ring. Brock's not going to present you with an impossible situation, he's obligated to make sure the challenge is beatable. There IS a path to victory._

Admiral's movements were slowing. He wasn't getting exhausted, but the impetus to dodge was diminishing. He started letting bubbles hit him - it wasn't like they could deal any damage. And all the while, my mind raced. But it wasn't racing _usefully_ anymore, just churning through the same stable of ideas I'd already had, falsifying them again and again, periodically interrupted by vague, frustrated mental screams shouting _THINK OF AN IDEA._

And after Admiral had taken a few bubble hits without concern, Kabuto reared up again, the same way it had a dozen times. But this time there was no stream of bubbles - rather, a red glow emanated from its mouth, and a dull maroon beam struck out at great speed. Admiral, caught off-guard, was too slow to dodge, and the beam connected. In a flash, droplets of water beaded across his flesh and were pulled away, speeding back towards Kabuto's glowing maw. _Absorb. Kabuto can learn that?_

Admiral threw himself to the side, shuddering, rolling as he landed, staying just ahead of the beam as it moved. As he rose from the roll, he wobbled, visibly drained.

The beam traveled, hitting Admiral again, tremors running through him. He was running, sprinting, taking a route around the sloped boulder to position it between him and the Kabuto. It pursued as it lost line of sight - slower than Admiral, but inexorable. It reached the bottom of the boulder's slope, keeping to the edge of the gravel - as the boulder ramped upwards, the gravel gave way to clear stone. But just a few feet from the gravel line lay the fissure. _Opportunity?_

 _Hold for a few seconds. Wait until Kabuto's at the narrowest point - in about fifteen seconds, it'll reach the spot where there's only a narrow path of gravel. It'll be right next to the fissure. If Admiral charges him there, he_ might b _e able to knock it into the crevice. Not great, but it's the best shot we're going to get._

 _"Admiral. No move. Stop. Physical attack enemy. Enemy up-down. Stop. Stop."_

I really needed to teach him a _wait_ command, but he seemed to grasp it. He looked at me, leaning against the rock, breathing heavily and perspiring, and nodded.

Kabuto neared the bottleneck, still staying as far away from the fissure as it could…and went off the gravel, traversing the bare rock of the ramp instead. _I_ _t knows its weakness._

Its progress was slow, claws unsuited to walking on stone sans an intermediary to provide more resistance. Its movements were hesitant, finding a small crack or crevice for its next step before raising a claw from an established point. But it was moving, and it wasn't getting any closer to where I needed it to go.

 _Out of time. Take the shot._

 _"ATTACK!"_

Admiral charged, racing around the boulder at full pelt. The Kabuto seemed to intuit the meaning of my command and stopped moving, bracing itself on the patch of bare rock it stood and raising its head, mouth glowing. Admiral entered its sight, and it fired, beam streaking out towards him.

Admiral made no attempt to dodge, taking the hit. He barreled towards his foe and struck it full-force, thick skull connecting right in its mouth. Kabuto lost its footing, claws scratching exposed stone as it struggled to hold ground. Unable to withstand the tackle, it skidded back, legs digging into gravel as it was driven towards the edge, desperately trying to stop…

…and succeeding.

Not enough momentum. It held, right at the edge of the precipice. The red light was gone, whatever trauma Admiral had inflicted upon Kabuto's mouth cutting off the attack. But Admiral, now beneath the edge of Kabuto's shell, was finally exposed to its deadly claws. The front pair swung around, one catching him by the shell, the other digging into the flesh of his arm. The shell's front descended, semi-enclosing Admiral, and from beneath I could see that familiar maroon glow again.

I couldn't see exactly what has happening - Kabuto was facing away from me - but noise told the tale. Admiral was shouting, roaring in his croaking little way. Kabuto's shell was bucking as Admiral rained blows from below, the red light cutting off abruptly, getting knocked tantalizingly close to the ledge. But Kabuto's savage claws drew back and struck again, and again, and the shakes from Admiral's strikes grew subtler, smaller.

This was not what I had wanted. My first Gym battle. But Kabuto was no longer moving closer to the precipice, and I would not allow Admiral to become another Golduck. There was only one option left.

 _Concede._

I opened my mouth, the words catching in my throat. It took a moment, but I found them, and my tongue began to move.

And then, I saw Admiral.

He'd thrown himself to the side, trying to get out from under Kabuto's shell. He was on his front, clawing at gravel, crawling away. His arms were shining red, what little of his face I could see cut and smeared with blood. A claw caught his leg as he struggled out, opening a new wound, but he jerked his leg away and pulled free, staggering to his feet and breaking into a ragged run up the sloping boulder, Kabuto's scything claws falling out of reach. It reared up and fired another maroon beam, catching Admiral by the leg and making him tremble, but then he was over the boulder's crest and upon its summit. The boulder flattened at the top, presenting a space the linear Absorb could not reach.

Admiral collapsed. Bleeding, exhausted, but safe.

 _"Rakka?"_ I called out. His tail flopped from one side to the other, once. _Hurt, but can continue._

 _Great, but continue to what? Ranged attacks don't work. He doesn't have the strength for another melee. Kabuto's already repositioning, moving to a space with more gravel behind it. It's got the fissure behind it, but if the first charge didn't do the trick, then a second definitely won't. Not in Admiral's state, not with that much ground to cover. Sure, Admiral can keep going, but we've got no win condition. It's over._

 _"Huk,"_ I called. _"Varra-krinn."_

 _Stop. Enemy win._

Admiral lay there for a moment, without response or acknowledgement. Then, he turned his head to look at me, face dark, and uttered a short bark of contempt.

I shook my head. _"Huk,"_ I said again, more insistent this time. _"Varra-KRINN."_

This time, he shouted. A loud, furious bark of rejection. Then again, and again, and again.

Perhaps I should have ignored him. Said the words, raised his Pokéball, returned him. Perhaps I should have lost, then and there. It would have been the wise thing to do. But that look in his eyes - that glare, that fury, that utter refusal to accept defeat - I couldn't bring myself to deny it. He would have taken it as a betrayal, as a shame I'd forced upon him. We had accepted defeat before, in the face of Venomoth, and we would go on to do it again. Sometimes, every path leads to defeat. Admiral knew that, and while he hated losing, he would never begrudge me for throwing in when the last hope had faded.

But to make that decision _for_ him, against his wishes, to call him vanquished when his eyes still saw triumph - that, I could not do.

I nodded. Faced with no option but victory, I knelt my head and began to think.

 _Brock has not declared the challenge lost. That means he still thinks there's a way for Admiral to win - Leaders don't let first-ring battles drag on pointlessly, he'd stop it if there was no hope. He's given me a much greater challenge than he usually does to first-timers - why? Doesn't matter. Focus. He's given me a greater challenge, but it's still a first-ring battle. If there's a way to win, he's probably keeping it open for me. He's fought hundreds of these kinds of fights, he knows he's supposed to let capable Trainers succeed. He doesn't have a reputation for being unfair. He can see a win condition. It's there. I just need to find it._

I looked up at him. He stood stalwart, unmoving. He gave no words, made no attempt to hurry or pressure me. _He's letting me see it. Where is it?_

 _What's he doing that's allowing me to win?_

I shook my head. _No. We've tried that line of thought. Wrong question._

 _What's he_ not _doing that would cause me to lose?_

I surveyed the battlefield, trying to see it from Brock's point of view. _If we were reversed, and I was commanding Kabuto, I wouldn't keep it where it is. There's no need to be anywhere near that fissure. It can move to any open space on the field and wait, and there's nothing I'd be able to do about it. He's keeping Kabuto near the precipice. He thinks that's how I can win. So I'm on the right track, I'm just missing something._

 _What would make Admiral able to knock Kabuto over, that didn't work the first time? The angle's a bit better, the fissure is right behind it now, rather than parallel to Kabuto. Is that enough?_

 _Probably not. Kabuto's given itself a good five feet of space, and the ground there is thick with gravel. It'll be able to dig in, the rocks provide too much resistance. If I can get Kabuto to a space of clear stone floor, it might work._

 _But Kabuto's not moving. No attack is going to force a maneouvre. Water attacks are useless, it doesn't need to evade them. It can just stay there._

 _Oh._

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. It was so obvious, now that I saw it.

 _"Admiral. Water attack enemy. Water attack rock. Water attack, no physical attack. Water attack enemy, water attack rock."_

He frowned at me. I nodded. He considered it for a moment, and shrugged.

Crawling along the flat top of the boulder, he moved to the crest where it began to slope. As his head emerged over the top, Kabuto reared up and fired another red beam - Admiral ducked back, avoiding it. But as soon as the beam faded, he leaned back over and fired a shot of water. It skidded over the top of Kabuto, ineffective.

Another stream of maroon light. Admiral ducked back, waited, and returned fire. The second shot hit Kabuto's upper eye, causing a flinch but little more. Another beam, another retreat, another attack. The third missed Kabuto entirely, striking only the earth beneath its claws, sending a small portion of gravel flying into the air.

As he ducked back to avoid the fourth Absorb, Admiral's eyes met mine. This time, he nodded back.

The exchange continued for a few minutes. Kabuto would open its mouth and send a beam of dull red light towards Admiral, and Admiral would hide himself behind the boulder's ridge as it came. Then, he would emerge with open mouth and send a stream of water glancing off Kabuto's shell, or hitting one of its upper eyes. Every time Kabuto flinched at one such eye connection, I would shout out in an approving voice, huge smile on my face, _"Varrakh-ohm!"_

 _Attack rock._

And on every third or fourth shot, when the water struck only gravel, I adopted a grave tone and admonished him, shaking my head and grumbling _"Tare. Tare."_

 _Yes. Yes._

Credit to the little guy, he worked it out quickly. After a few of these cycles, he began cheering at the phrase _"Varrakh-ohm"_ , and wincing when he heard a disapproving _tare._ And little by little, piece by piece, the gravel around Kabuto was washed away.

There's no way Brock didn't notice. The deception was a nice touch - in retrospect, we might have oversold it - but he would have worked our plan out long before the stone was cleared. But a Gym Leader's role is to challenge, not to vanquish. He gave no command to Kabuto, no instruction that it should move. It stayed, and when the ground beneath it was bare, and the stone slick with water, I shouted out a new command to Admiral.

 _"Physical attack. Enemy up-down. Win, Admiral. Win."_

Another suppressing beam faded over Admiral's head, and he launched himself from the summit, barreling down upon his enemy. Charging a rock.

 _No. Not a rock. Just a shell._

The red light struck out once more, but Admiral was already there. Crashing into Kabuto, he sent his foe skidding across the stone floor, claws scraping and flailing in desperate attempt to find purchase. But none was present, and the rear of Kabuto's shell collided with the far edge of the fissure, scraping down the crevice wall, head rising inevitably into the air.

It wasn't on its back - there hadn't been enough momentum for that. Nor was it helpless - it was wedged somewhat upright, at about a 45° angle. The fissure wasn't tight enough to fit Kabuto snugly. Its rear claws pressed themselves against the shelf nearest Admiral, pushing, beginning to rock back and forth, moving its centre of balance.

Admiral wasted no time. He hopped over the crevice as the swings grew larger, got behind Kabuto and, at the peak of its backward swing, jumped up - catching the top ridge of Kabuto's shell and seizing tightly upon it. With all his weight now on Kabuto's back, it overbalanced, shell scratching hideously against stone - and Kabuto fell backward.

Claws flailed in the air. Helpless.

Admiral released his hold, taking a step back. Watching.

Kabuto struggled.

And struggled.

And, finally, stopped.

When Brock's inflectionless voice rang out through the PA, it was all I could do to keep myself composed.

"Congratulations, Trainer Red. You have earned the Boulder Badge."

Admiral raised his arms to the sky, eyes shining, and roared.

* * *

I'd known for a long time that when I won my first Badge, some sort of celebration would be in order. But I'd never really considered what that celebration might be, and had I been left to my own devices, I'd probably have ended up just spending the night in the hotel with my Pokémon and some ramen.

Fortunately, when Brock clasped my hand at his podium after giving me the Badge - _smiling_ , no less - he gave me an opening, speaking in a low voice.

"Free for a drink later?"

* * *

I sat at a table of rough-hewn wood, alone amongst a bustle of noise and rowdiness. Talking, shouting, uproarious laughter, the evening chill of Pewter held at bay by the fire burning at the hearth. I was by myself, striking a deliberately nonchalant pose, nursing a beer, and pretending I didn't hate it.

Is it egotistical to admit I was hoping someone would recognise me and act impressed? Probably. But that day, I'd accomplished the single greatest feat of my life to date, and what I really wanted was validation. For somebody to notice. And nobody did.

There hadn't even been any answer when I'd called home.

I didn't need to wait too long, though.

I saw Brock the moment he walked through the door - I'd been keeping an eye on the entrance since I'd arrived - and gave the most restrained, casual wave I could. He spotted me, waved back, and raised a finger as he walked up to the bar. A moment as he ordered a drink, engaged in some small talk with the bartender, and made his way over to me.

In contrast to his stony demeanour at the Gym, he was now quite casual and cheery. He took my hand with a smile, said "congratulations," and swung himself down onto a seat. He took a long pull of his beer - if his expression was anything to gauge by, actually _enjoying_ it - and, apropos of nothing, gave a laugh.

"Really enjoyed our fight today, Red. Good stuff."

A swell of pride filled my chest. "Thank you, Leader."

He waved me away over another pull from his drink. "Hah, _Leader._ Brock."

"Brock," I said with a smile of my own, taking a sip from my own beer and not even grimacing. "I'm glad you liked it. I had a great time, too."

"I'm sure," he said wryly.

"I mean, it was hard," I said. "Like, _really_ hard. I really thought we'd lost there."

"So did I. By the time your Squirtle crawled out from under Skellig, I was ready to call an end to it."

"Me too. Why didn't you?"

"Oh," said Brock, leaning back, amusement playing across his face. "I was hoping you'd have the self-discipline to admit defeat. See if you were the kind of idiot who'd keep fighting a battle you'd obviously lost."

 _Well, we couldn't have misread that one any worse._

"Huh," I said, formulating a response. "Guess I'm that idiot, then."

He shrugged. "Well, you found a way out of it. Eventually. That play with the crack in the ground was pretty clever. Kinda convoluted, but still good."

"I thought you'd figured out what I was doing."

"Oh, yeah. Your Squirtle was dancing around that crack most of the battle, it wasn't difficult. I just didn't think you'd make it work."

I smiled, bowing my head.

"It was good, in a ridiculous sort of way."

My gaze came back up. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, you went about formulating this complex series of gambits to get Skellig over to a crevice, clear out the terrain, disrupt her footing, bet it all on a mad ploy to physically overpower a Pokémon far larger and heavier than your Squirtle, and go to the effort of trying to disguise all that through a transparent deception. And in all that, you missed the obvious solution."

My heart sank. "Oh?"

"She's a Kabuto. Hit her from the sides."

I wished I'd conjured a more eloquent response than "What?", but there we go.

"Kabuto's completely forward-facing. Claws, mouth, everything - can only attack what's in front of them. No maneouvreability on land. Stay behind them, they can't turn around fast enough to fight." He shrugged. "Easy win."

I let his words wash over me for a moment, elation giving way to embarrassment.

"Uh," I said, "can we chalk that one up to crowd-pleasing?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." I took another drink. "See, I thought you were giving me a really hard fight, and I've spent half the afternoon trying to figure out why. And now I'm finding out it was supposed to be an easy one, and I feel kinda stupid now."

He shook his head. "Not easy. You made it harder than it needed to be, but it wasn't meant as a cakewalk. Even if you'd worked out the orientation part, there's still a lot of danger there. Your Squirtle gets overzealous, starts trying to land blows too deep under the shell, a claw can catch him and ruin his day."

I nodded. "Makes sense."

We spent a minute in silence, sipping at our drinks. The lack of conversation weighed awkwardly on me, but Brock seemed quite at ease with it, gazing around the room, seemingly happy to wander through his own thoughts. Eventually, I felt the need to speak.

"I do have a question, Lea-Brock."

"Mm?"

"Why _did_ you choose Kabuto for this fight? I mean, I've looked through all the public info on your first-ring fights, it's always a Geodude, maybe a small Onix. It just seemed…"

I tried to find a word less petulant than _unfair._

"…different," I ended.

He exhaled, settling down to face me fully. The contented expression he'd been wearing faded, and suddenly I was facing Brock the Leader again.

"You want to know why I went harder on you than the others."

"Well, yes," I said. "I'm not complaining, mind. Just curious."

"Red," he said, pushing his glass to the side, "you know the words we say, when a Trainer wins a Badge?"

"Yeah. _Congratulations, Trainer. You've earned the_ \- well, Boulder Badge, or what have you."

He nodded. "That's right. _Earned._ Not 'won', not 'received'. _Earned._ Most of the first-timers I get, they're kids. They bring a Pidgey or an Oddish, a Krabby, maybe a Pinsir every once in a while. You can't imagine the number of times I've had a kid come in with his pet Nidoran and try to make it work. They don't have anyone giving them Association starters, they've never had any special mentoring, they come in under-equipped with a dream and a plan and none of the resources to make it work.

"And then there's you. You spend your whole life with one of the world's most accomplished Pokémon Professors for a dad, you get an incredible starter that any of these kids would cut off their right arm to have. Then it gets stolen, you make a joke about it, and within a week you've got another one lined up for you. You step out the gate, and there's paparazzi waiting to take your photo and hand you endorsements. Most Trainers, when they show up to a Gym and it's closed for repairs? They're shit out of luck. They swallow it, and go do something else until the sign on the door says 'Open', and pray they've got enough money to tide them over that long. You throw a fit at a receptionist - word travels, Red - and a Gym Leader buys you a steak dinner to apologise.

"So yes, I went harder on you. I didn't throw a Rhydon down against your Squirtle, but I gave you a proper challenge. Because that's what I do for every kid who shows up with a Ratatta, and I wasn't about to let you cruise through to your first Badge on type advantage. You've had it really, _really_ easy, Red. I know it might not seem like it, because I don't doubt you've had to face plenty of your own challenges. But you're coming into this with every advantage, you've had opportunities rained down on you like most of these kids could never even dream of, and it wouldn't have been fair of me to just toss out the same Geodude I do for everyone else. I can't just give you a Badge. You have to earn it."

I didn't say anything. Couldn't think of what to say. My cheeks were burning, I couldn't look him right in the eye. I knew he wasn't trying to be cruel, but it felt like he was just scolding me.

His tone softened. "Don't get me wrong, Red. You _did_ earn it. But you can't come out of this feeling like you've been unfairly victimized. You're going to have a lot of people telling you how great you are, and you need to remember you're starting out with a hell of a leg-up. Don't let it get to your head."

He paused. "Like your brother."

Now, I looked up at him. "Blue? Have you fought him yet?"

This time, it was Brock's turn to look confused.

"You haven't heard?"

I shook my head. "Had no signal going through Viridian, and I didn't think to check after I arrived. I was kind of tired."

He laughed, his Leader persona fading away. "Oh, man. I'm so glad I get to be the one to tell you the story."

I groaned. "What'd he do?"

"Well, it's a good thing you challenged me when you did. You got here just in time."

 _Oh, Arceus._

"He came through three days ago. Showed up all gung-ho, casual as you like. He sent out his Eevee, I put down a Geodude. Don't worry, a nice big one - taking a challenge from an Eevee is very different from a Squirtle - and you know what he does?"

My face was buried in my hands. "What?"

"He _laughs_. Faked a yawn. I ask him if there's a problem, and he tells me that he thought Gyms were supposed to be a challenge. Just showboating for the cameras. I ask if he'd like a tougher opponent, and he says 'yes, please.'"

"Mew. So, what'd you do?"

Brock's grin was so wide, I was afraid his cheeks might split open. "Called his bluff. Withdrew Geodude and sent out a Graveler."

"And?"

"And have you ever _seen_ an Eevee try to fight a Graveler?"

 _Oh, no._

He raised a hand. "Don't worry, I didn't hurt it. Your brother tried all kinds of fancy stuff, but Giliath weighs over 200 kilos. In the end, I had him hold Eevee by the scruff of the neck for a while. It kicked around for a bit, gave up, and your brother had to concede."

 _Holy shit._ "I'm guessing he didn't take it well."

Brock shook his head. "On the contrary. He laughed, said he'd learned a lesson in humility, and thanked me for my time. When the media contacted him, he told them he had no problem with how I'd handled it, that he'd been arrogant and unmannerly, and that it was an important lesson he was grateful to learn. Said he looked forward to challenging me again soon, and 'to show proper respect due to a Leader who has inspired us all.'" He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. He's good like that. And?"

"The League didn't take it so well. Sanctioned me, said I'd shown poor decorum and had 'behaved in a manner unbecoming the dignity of a Gym Leader.' Brought the League into disrepute, apparently. They offered your brother the Boulder Badge as an apology, and you know what he did?"

"What?"

"He _turned it down_. Said he wouldn't accept anything he hadn't earned, and would only take the Badge by winning it, fair and square. Media went wild at that one. So, next day, he reapplies - I recused myself, my brother Forrest took his challenge - faces a Geodude, wins handily, and goes on his way. I've never seen a Trainer show such disrespect to a Leader, and he's come out of the whole thing looking better than he came in."

 _It's just classic fucking Blue, isn't it? Acts like a complete dick, and comes out smelling like roses._

"Anyway, word came through from the League this afternoon. I've been suspended from Gym duties, pending an inquiry. Forrest will be taking over in my stead. Guess I offended the wrong people."

I gazed up at the ceiling, astonished and yet only barely surprised. "Dammit. I'm sorry, Brock."

He shrugged. "Don't be sorry. You didn't do anything, and I _did_ overstep. Shouldn't have risen to his bait like that."

"He does have a way of getting under people's skin."

"Amen to that," said Brock, lifting his glass. We clinked glasses, and he finished his drink. I managed to hit the halfway point of mine.

"Anyway," he said, "I'm not too cut up about it. I've been thinking of getting away from it all for a while, anyway. Which brings me to why I asked to meet you tonight."

"Oh?" I asked.

"Well, I'd like to take some time away from everything. League inquiries tend to take a while, and I could really do with a bit of time away from the city. Getting back to roots, that sort of thing. I was thinking of heading into the mountain, do some exploring, some meditating, all that good stuff. And if your next stop is Cerulean, then I'm guessing you're headed the same way.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come along."

* * *

Obviously, I said yes.

* * *

It was only when I'd gotten back to the hotel, head slightly spinning from the alcohol, that I saw the blinking light on my Pokédex signalling a message. I opened it up to see a waiting voicemail, from Daisy.

"Hey Red!" her voice crackled through the tinny speaker. "Sorry we missed your call, things got a bit hectic. Grandpa got a message from Dr. Fuji this morning, got real agitated. He flew off on Ozone a few hours ago. Something going down at the lab in Cinnabar."

* * *

 _This concludes Arc I of Pokémon: The Line._

 _I can be contacted on Twitter, under the username 'RadHominin'._

 _The Line will return in February, with Arc II:_

 _"Undertow"_


End file.
